Footy

THE COTTAGE (10)

“G’day handsome.” Having spent a virtually sleepless Sunday night, Adam was determined never to go camping with Tom again. Yet he had realized that though life with Tom was impossible, life without him was worse. He was immensely relieved to see Tom at the gym. “Look, Tom, I’m sorry I’m such a suckhole. I dunno why I was so grumpy yesterday. Coffee afterwards?” Tom’s smile was so pleased and relieved that, despite his experience and better instincts, Adam felt a treacherous bud of hope open in his heart.

Over the caffè lattes, Tom tactfully didn’t discuss Adam’s behavior, which perversely made Adam want to explain.

“Things are pretty bad at work. I’m expecting to lose my job any minute now.”

“What will you do?” Tom’s question was interested, and the concern in his eyes was genuine.

“Ideally, start up on my own. But I expect I will have to go to another broker or bank, taking as many of my clients with me as I can.”

“What’s needed to start up on your own?”

“A licence from ASIC. Capital. Contacts. A few start-up clients to tide me over till the business is humming.”

“I’ll give you my money to manage, and take it away from Sehnburgs if they sack you.” Tom grinned at Adam. “It might help. It’s about one and a half mill, and when the house is sold, it’ll be a fair bit more.”

Adam was touched. “Tom, you dill. You’re my friend. I could never take your money.” He was astounded by how rich Tom was. He’d no idea footy players were that well paid.

Tom was glad that Adam had called him his friend, because he certainly thought of Adam as his friend, as his closest friend. He had been so lonely before, even though he was surrounded by people. He still had no inkling of the conflicting currents of emotion going through Adam’s mind. He only wanted not to be alone again. And when he was with his friend, he felt the inky darkness retreat, until it was no more than a small shadow in his consciousness.

“Don’t dismiss it altogether. If you need help, I’ll do what I can.”

Adam had had an idea while he was castigating himself for his folly during the long depressed Sunday evening he’d spent alone. The weekend coming up was a long one, with Monday a public holiday.

“Fiona and I own a holiday cottage near Merimbula. I was wondering whether you would like to go down there with me. She said that she might be there, but you’d like her, I think. If we leave on Friday straight after work, we should be there by one or two in the morning. And we could leave on Monday after lunch, so we’d have two and a half days.” Adam wryly acknowledged to himself that he would be in a similar situation in a holiday cottage as he had been while they were camping. At least at the cottage, he could go for a walk by himself if things became too bad. And his need to spend time with Tom was too great to be denied.

“Brill. Gotta go now. When are we starting to do our playing together?” Tom was half out of his seat, staring at Adam, waiting for his answer.

Adam resigned himself to fate. In manus tuas, domine. “Tonight? I’ve got nothing on.” He didn’t tell Tom that he never had anything on, but he supposed that Tom guessed that. He didn’t think Tom had much on either.

“OK. I’ll ring you. Seeya later, Adam.”

Adam tried not watch as Tom walked away. He was still afraid that he would give himself away to Tom. He didn’t care what others thought of him – he was out to everybody who mattered except his mother – but he cared very much what Tom knew and thought. The episode on Sunday night had shown him that. And he cared too much about hurting Tom to just shut the whole thing off, even if he could.

Adam left the office early. On the way home on the tram, he considered what they could play. He had some classic jazz pieces. ‘I’m Getting Sentimental Over You’ should do nicely – great tune, and nice slow, simple clarinet part. And the guitar chords were not too hard either. He had been practising a lot, so his lips no longer gave out after twenty minutes. But he guessed anyway that, probably, he and Tom wouldn’t play for long before giving up and having a couple of glasses of red.

---oOo---

Tom had had music in his blood. It was part of what had made him want to dance. He had been a good guitarist, and he found as he practised at the mansion that he had been a much better guitarist than he remembered. I used to be able to play that, he thought in amazement, as he struggled with an especially difficult section. It was coming back fast – he wouldn’t make a fool of himself in front of Adam. His fingers had started to develop the calluses that allowed him to play for longer without getting too sore. At first, they had become very tender and he’d only been able to play for half an hour before he’d had to stop. He leafed through some of his music scripts, picking out something not too hard. He realized that almost all his stuff was in concert pitch, and wondered how good Adam was at transposing at sight.

They had a marvellous session. Each was agreeably surprised at how good the other was. They played well together, as if there was a deeper connection. Tom had liked ‘Getting Sentimental’ and Adam had liked the tunes Tom had chosen, though he had forgotten how to sight-transpose, and kept on making mistakes. Tom had been patient.

They played for nearly an hour before Adam’s lips started to go rubbery. The sounds this made while he was trying to play made him start to laugh, which made Tom laugh too. Wind instruments don’t work if you laugh. They gave up, and Adam opened the bottle he had selected earlier.

As they sipped their cabernet sauvignon, Tom said, “That was good. Shall we do it again tomorrow?”

Adam nodded. This was a way to be with Tom, to be close to him without risking exposure. And he’d found before that music brought people together, and if you played together, there was often a subliminal communication, a feeling of what the other player was going to do. He wished, not for the first time, that he wasn’t in love with this man. What a wonderful friend he’d make.

Tom didn’t ask to stay the night. He hadn’t had a lot to drink, and it was becoming easier for him to go home to the empty house.

A famous society hostess, a competent managing director of the one of the major banks¹, was very keen to buy it. The estate agent had told Tom that she would make an offer soon. The agent was hinting to her that Tom might go to auction, because he believed he could get a better price. But in truth, Tom wanted to get rid of it, and was happy with the initial price the agent had suggested. He wanted to put his past behind him. He wondered where he would live. Somewhere close to Adam would be good.

On Friday, Sehnburgs allowed, even encouraged, casual clothes. It was part of the corporate attempt to make the staff feel that their employer was warm and caring, to blur the distinction between work and home, so that you took more work home. Adam was always surprised that anyone fell for this crap, but it suited him to wear jeans and an open-necked shirt, because they were heading off for Merimbula straight after work. He didn’t go to the gym, and nor did Tom, because they wanted to leave at four. They managed it with five minutes to spare, avoiding the worst of the peak period on the freeway.

By five o’clock they were in the countryside, with the hood down, the warm summer air caressing their skin, their hair bristling in the wind. Adam was amused at the image they presented to outsiders. Tom was wearing his Gucci glasses and designer-label clothes and was driving a BMW convertible. Adam’s gear was a bit more downmarket, but still classy. They looked like a rich guy and his lover going away for a dirty weekend. If only, thought Adam, wistfully. His feeling for Tom had gone far beyond simple lust, though he would welcome a bit of that too.

In another hour, they were in the Latrobe valley, driving past coal mines and massive power stations. They stopped for coffee and a snack at a roadside diner, and Tom was recognized by a fourteen or fifteen year old boy, who shyly came to their table and asked for an autograph. Adam was impressed with the kindness that Tom showed the boy, and the way he listened to him enthuse about his playing. Tom disliked what he was doing, and Adam, knowing Tom as he did, could see that. When they got back to the car, Tom tossed him the keys.

“You drive,” he said.

“You’re a lovely man, Thomas Milton Siedentrop.”

“Why?” asked Tom, his eyebrows raised above his dark glasses. “Because I let you drive? Nah. It’s because I’m tired, and I want to sleep.”

“No because you were kind to that kid, and you hated every minute.”

“You saw that?”

“Yeah. It stuck out like dog’s balls.”

“Did the kid realize that too?” Tom was worried, now.

“No. You fooled him.”

“But I didn’t fool you. Clever little bugger, aren’t you, Adam?” Tom’s voice was thoughtful, and Adam hoped he hadn’t given himself away. However, after only a few more minutes, Tom went to sleep. He woke a couple of hours later, just as the sun was setting behind them in a wash of purple and gold and scarlet.

“Where are we?” he mumbled, his mouth dry and his face slightly pink from the wind and the sun.

“Lake’s Entrance.” As Adam spoke they crested the ridge just before the town and saw the glory of the sunset duplicated in the lagoon.

“Neat,” said Tom appreciatively. Adam could have kissed him. He loved the way Tom occasionally used outdated Americanisms. He tried not to think of how he would miss Tom when he left, as he inevitably would. That was for the future.

They refuelled in Lake’s Entrance, and Adam sauntered into the food shop attached to the garage and bought some fruit and some fruit juice. They parked next to the harbor and watched the fishing boats leave for night fishing. One of the guys on a boat recognized Tom and called out “Fantastic goal, Tom.” Tom smiled and waved. It was strange, when he was with Adam he didn’t mind this recognition, the hero worship. Adam kept him grounded. Adam admired and liked him for things that really mattered, his kindness, his music, his sense of humor. Tom suspected he would have admired him for his ability to play, too, if he hadn’t been so resolutely opposed to footy. To Adam, Tom was Tom, not some unrealistic icon, some unreachable god.

It took another two and a half hours to reach the New South Wales/Victoria border. Tom put the hood up as the air chilled and they listened to Bob Dylan, Simon and Garfunkel, Fluid Exchange, Coldplay, Powderfinger, Van Morrison. Whenever, afterwards, Tom heard “Lay, Lady, Lay”, he would remember the magic of that trip, the car speeding through the night, its powerful headlights sweeping across the native forest that crowded the road on either side, and lighting up the ghostly, creamy white of the wild St Joseph’s lilies that grew on the verge.

The moon was bright on Twofold Bay at Eden, which they reached just after midnight. Adam had fallen asleep, and Tom had turned the music down, so that it whispered and suggested, ‘This will last. This is happiness. Treasure it.’ He was alone in the magical dim green glow of the dashboard lights. Adam looked endearing in the soft luminous glow, his head lolling at an angle that made him seem helpless and vulnerable. Tom glanced at him quickly, feeling a strange urge to stroke his forehead, ruffle his hair, rest his hand on Adam’s leg. He resisted these impulses, wondering whether they were part of intense friendship. He understood, now, that he had never had a really close friend before – he been part of a group of friends, no one of whom was more important to him than any other.

He stopped at an all-night service station in Eden, and woke Adam up.

“Coffee,” he said laconically. Yawning, Adam got out and stretched, and they stumbled into the café. The girl behind the counter was half-asleep, and served them coffee without speaking more than she had to.

“Not far now,” said Adam, once again in the driver’s seat, as they set off through the dense forests towards Merimbula. He hadn’t been there for a while, and had to slow down as they got close to the turnoff. He dimly remembered the signpost from his last visit a year ago, and saw it just in time to make the turn without having to go on and turn back.

The dirt road wound through the gums, then suddenly crested the hill, and there in front of them was the lagoon, with the town’s lights twinkling softly, magically in the distance.

The cottage was a simple weatherboard affair, surrounded by a deep veranda, with water tanks out the back filled by the run-off from the roof. It was on a small rise, and over the tops of the eucalyptus forest, they could see the lagoon, and beyond that, the sea. Adam parked the car, and they fetched their bags from the boot. He scrabbled around the lintel of the front door until he found the key.

“Thought for a moment there that Fiona had forgotten to put it back.” The house was in darkness, and there was no other car. “She’ll probably be coming down tomorrow.”

Inside, Adam opened cupboards until he found the paraffin lamps, and lit one which he set on the table. “Sheets,” he muttered, yawning infectiously. They decided it was too much trouble to make up two beds, and found a bedroom with a double bed and made that up. Stripping to their boxers, they got into bed without brushing their teeth. The night was cool, and Tom found himself welcoming the warmth of Adam’s body in the bed next to him. His last conscious thought before he went to sleep was how happy he was.

In the morning, when Tom woke, he had to lie for a minute or two until he remembered were he was. Then he stretched, feeling Adam’s body against his as he did so, and turned over onto his back. He stared at the light on the ceiling. It was odd that something so simple – an unpretentious holiday in a quite ordinary holiday cottage, should be so much fun. But he felt utterly contented and relaxed. He realized that the black inside him had gone, leaving no trace except its memory and the fear that it would return. He tried to remember the last time he’d been so happy, and couldn’t. This was even better than the camping trip.

After breakfast, they took the track down through the gums and the ti-trees to the beach. The beach ran for miles in both directions, and was completely deserted. It was still early. Later on there would be more people. Even though it was no longer high season, it was a long weekend. For now at least, they were virtually alone. They had changed into their bathers before they left home. Tom had skimpy scarlet lycra briefs, but Adam wore baggy shorts with a mesh inner brief. Adam found it amusing that the gay partner in this unlikely friendship wore the less revealing costume. Tom said, “Don’t know how you can wear those shorts. They take so long to dry afterwards. They stick to you, all clammy. These,” he said, slipping his fingers under the waistband of his briefs and snapping it against his body, “are so much better.”

“Yeah, but you have to have your kind of body to wear those sort of bathers. OK for you, maybe, but for me. No way!”

“Rubbish, Adam. You have a good body. Why are you so ashamed of it?”

“It’s a long story.” Adam reflected that perhaps always comparing himself to the ideal bodies and tanned faces and perfect clothes of the clientele of gay clubs, to the ideals in gay magazines, had made him too critical.

“So tell me.” Tom’s voice was warm, compelling.

“No,” said Adam, firmly. “Last one in the water is a wuss puss.” And he ran. But he was competing with a champion footy player, and of course lost, and as Tom emerged from the waves, whooping with the cold, he shouted, “Wuss puss!” They spent half an hour in the water, then spread their towels on the sand to dry off in the sun.

“Are you happy, Adam?”

The question came out of the blue, and Adam was so surprised he answered truthfully. “Yes. Well, mostly.”

“Me too.” Nothing else needed to be said. The thought struck Tom that if Adam had been a woman, he would be in love with him by now. They would probably have been lovers for a while. This wayward reflection didn’t bother him. He was happy, after months of misery, and years of an unacknowledged emptiness. While Tom was contemplating the nature of love and happiness, Adam was thinking how, if Tom had been gay, they would be in the middle of an affair. And then he recalled that if Tom had been gay, he would not have been interested in Adam, because this was the iron rule. Tom was buff, beautiful, manly. Why would he have ever been interested in a thirty-something guy with couple of inches too much flobbing on top of his belly? That they were together at all was due to Adam’s own willingness to overlook a lot in a bloke he was attracted to, and Tom’s straight sensibility, which made how Adam looked irrelevant. Tom liked Adam for what Adam was, not the size of his pectorals or the shape of his butt.

They went back to the cottage to shower. Then Adam suggested they get stuff to make a salad for lunch.

“So healthy, Mr. Footy Champ.” Adam enjoyed teasing Tom.

But Tom gave as good as he got. “Slimming!” he replied laconically, looking sideways out of his eyes at Adam's waist.

“Cheeky bugger.” Adam punched Tom’s shoulder. “OK. But tonight we have Thai to compensate.”

They went into the town to buy groceries from the supermarket. Then Tom took Adam’s elbow. “Come. I want to get you something.” He propelled Adam along the pavements until they came to a surf shop.

“In you go,” he said to Adam, grinning wickedly.

He took Adam to the rack where the lycra swim briefs were hanging. “This should fit you,” he said, choosing a beautiful purple pair. “Try them on.”

“Tom... I don’t look good in lycra.” Adam was secretly pleased and moved.

“There’s no one to see. We won’t be picking up any chicks while we’re here.” Adam found this comforting. Which was curious, as after all, it wasn’t a promise, just a statement and anyway it only covered the next few days. Tom bought them both some lycra rash tops with long sleeves. “Don’t want to get sunburnt,” he said. When Adam offered to pay, Tom flatly refused. “It’s my treat. You’ve done so much for me.”

That afternoon, wearing their new gear, they walked along the beach in the national park. The beach sloped too steeply to be safe for bathing. A pod of six or seven dolphins was surfing in the waves, flipping out at the last minute just before the swell broke. Their silver bodies gleamed in the translucent water. With an elegant flick of their tails they would leap out of the breaking wave to catch the next breaker as it marched towards the shore. Adam and Tom trotted along the beach south, following the pod as it played in the sea.

At last they came to the end of the beach, where their path was blocked by cliffs. They stopped and fell panting to the sand. Tom was ecstatic. “That was stunning. Perfect. I’ve never seen that before.”

Adam was satisfied that, notwithstanding his own conflicts and disappointments, he’d made the right decision to invite Tom along.

When they got back to the cottage, there was another car parked under the giant gum-tree in the front yard.

“Fiona’s here,” said Adam pleased.

Tom found it odd to see what looked like two Adams. Fiona looked like Adam’s twin, a very similar female version of him. Her eyes were also hazel, and her hair the same shade of dark brown as his, and as curly, but longer. She was friendly, but seemed a little tense.

When Tom went to do something in the bedroom, Fiona said in a fierce whisper, “Not fair, brother mine. I’m a spare wheel here. If you’d told me, I could have brought someone too.”

“Indeed?” Adam drew the word out. “Who?”

Fiona stared at him, as stubborn as ever. “Tell you later.” She had a superstitious feeling that talking about her newfound love and lover would make them vanish.

“Tom’s just a friend.” Adam was offhand. He knew his sister.

Fiona’s eyes twinkled. “So why the one bed?”

“Too much trouble to make two. We only got in late last night.”

“You can’t fool me,” she said scornfully. She waited for him to speak, and when he didn’t, added, “I’m going to have a lie down. I’m a bit tired.” Adam noticed with amusement that she’d chosen the bedroom furthest away from theirs. The walls of the cottage were thin.

They went down to the town half an hour before sunset, and took a seat in the patio at the Thai restaurant underneath a pergola of grapevines. The waitress recognized Tom and kept on sneaking glances at him. Tom pretended not to notice. Fiona told them amusing stories of her fellow workers and some of her clients. She worked for a welfare agency. They had a discussion about how both the Liberal Federal government and the Labor State government were both slashing welfare benefits. After dinner, they went to the bottle shop and bought some wine, and some Irish Cream liqueur. Then they went for a walk along the beach, the wet sand shining in the twilight, with cryptic scribbles from neat seagull feet.

Tom saw six or seven kids playing footy, though it was almost too dark. When they saw him, they went all shy and wordless, but recovered enough to beg him to join them, and he accepted. He felt as he had before, that with Adam present, he could handle all the admiration. It was only for a small part of himself. The other parts, that no one else knew about, Adam admired. He wasn’t just a has-been footballer. His friendship with Adam had made him see how worthwhile and well-rounded he was, irrespective of his status as a footballer. Yet he was secretly pleased that Adam would finally get to see him play, and had to laugh at himself when he looked up from his game and saw that Adam and Fiona were deep in conversation and weren’t watching him at all.

As Tom joined the teenagers’ game, Fiona said, “I saw how you were looking at him, Ads. You’re in love, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” They had never had any secrets from each other. Till now, anyway.

“He’s lovely. And I don’t just mean the looks, though there are some who might like them.” She took his arm, and smiled at him. He smiled back, conceding the joke. “I hope you’re very happy together.”

“He’s straight, Fee. He doesn’t root guys.”

“I saw how he was looking at you.” She ignored the crudeness. “You’re very important to him.”

“Yeah, I know. As a friend. But the hard truth is, Fee, he’s just wired wrong. He’s totally male, utterly macho.” Except for the thong undies, he thought wryly. And even that was because he just didn’t care. Because he was so utterly confident of his masculinity.

“Sometimes it’s that kind that falls the hardest, Ads. He’s the one. See if I’m wrong.” But Adam couldn’t bear the hope because he knew the suffering it would inevitably cause later when it all went wrong, and he shook his head, changing the subject.

They went back to the cottage and broached a bottle of red wine. Then they played whist, and Tom cheated outrageously. When he saw identical expressions on Adam’s and Fiona’s faces, he began to laugh. “It’s terrifying., having two of you staring at me like that. I fear for my life.” Adam and Fiona looked at each other, and without a word, got up and began to advance on him.

“You hold him down, brother mine, while I torture him.”

Adam hadn’t known Tom was ticklish, because he’d been afraid to touch him. But now, as he held down Tom’s arms and Fiona tickled him on his flanks and under his arms Tom giggled helplessly.

“Stop! Oh, please stop! I’ll get you both for this!”

Eventually, Adam said, “I think he’s got the message now.” He wondered whether Tom would end up falling for his sister. He looked away from the pool of light cast by the paraffin lamp. Without knowing it, his face showed his sadness and resignation. Unbuff gay guys come last.

“What is it?” asked Tom. He had noticed the sudden wash of grief on Adam’s face, and felt an answering pang in himself, without knowing where it came from.

Adam forced a smile. “Nothing. Let’s finish that bottle and open a new one.”

Tom made his mind up to find out what it was when they were alone later. Fiona who’d seen both sides of the exchange, decided that she was going to find out as much as she could about this man who held her brother’s heart in his strong, elegant hands, with their guitarist’s fingers. She’d never seen Adam so much in love, and yet she suspected he was right – Tom was straight.

Later on, after she’d been persuaded to have a sip of Irish Cream liqueur, she went to bed, tired by the long drive down.

“Why were you so down just now?” asked Tom, carefully not looking at Adam, swirling the rich beige liquid in his glass before taking a sip. They had both had too much to drink.

“Oh, I was just thinking of life, of how things can go wrong, even if you try your best to make sure that they don’t.”

“Liar.”

“Tom,” said Adam, looking directly at him. “Don’t push. There are some things I don’t want to talk about. Not even with you,” he added, to take the sting out of it.

“OK. I understand. But if you ever do want to talk, and you need me, I’m there, all right? Because you are my best friend, and I will do anything for you.” Adam was sure that Tom was being completely genuine – he could hear the emotion in his voice.

“Not quite anything,” he murmured, trying to speak past the lump in his throat.

“What?” asked Tom.

Louder, Adam said, “Nothing. I think I'll turn in now.” Turn in! Why the fuck was he talking like this? Adam tried to laugh at himself, but instead he felt his melancholy deepen.

They still hadn’t made up a second bed, and this time the excuse for not doing it was that it might wake Fiona. But they both knew that they wanted it that way, that the second bed wouldn’t be made up the whole weekend. Neither wished to inspect his own or each other’s motives too closely. Tom just liked sleeping next to Adam, even though he had never shared a bed with another man before. And Adam wondered deep down whether he might get the chance to seduce the man who slept in the bed next to him, breathing in his air, feeling the movements of his body in the night, hearing the soft susurration of his heart, knowing all the while that he never would. Self-deception, unconscious or otherwise, is an effective short-term cure for unpalatable realities, but it always ends in suffering. They—both of them—knew this truth. And both ignored it.

****

In the morning, the two men woke to the smell of coffee and bacon and toast. Fiona was up, and had already been to the beach, her hair still wet. Their bedroom door was open, and she assumed that meant they were decent.

“So how are our heads this morning?” she asked, stamping into the room.

“Fee, go away.” Adam buried his head in the pillow. Tom just groaned.

“Get up, both of you. I haven’t been slaving over a hot stove for ten minutes for nothing. Breakfast is served.” With as much noise as she could, she drew the curtains and let the morning light in.

Yawning, they got up and pulled on jeans over their boxers. To Adam’s regret, he hadn’t seen the thongs this weekend. But he consoled himself with the fact that the swim briefs were almost as good. They followed every curve of Tom’s butt, reproducing the soft sweet cleft, the firm rounded muscles. Tom was so muscular that the elastic of the waistband hardly dented the flesh.

After breakfast, Adam and Tom went down to the beach. They swam for a while, enjoying the slight morning chill of the water, the emptiness of the beach. Then they lay side-by-side on their towels in the sun.

“I meant what I said last night,” said Tom quietly. “It wasn’t just the Irish Cream talking.”

Adam tried to stop him before he went too far. This was dangerous ground.

“No, just listen, Ads,” said Tom, “let me talk for a bit.” Adam was touched that Tom had noticed what Fiona had called him. “Things have been pretty bleak for me, for a long time. I didn’t want to admit it to myself. I was the great footy hero, with the lucrative contracts, the Toorak mansion, the beautiful wife. But for a long time it had all come to seem empty to me. Then I found out that Anita was fucking half the guys on the team. I wasn’t enough for her.”

“Did you love her?”

“Yeah. Pretty well.” From the way he said this, Adam knew that Tom had been deeply hurt by what Anita had done.

“You know, Tom . . .”, but Adam stopped, unsure how to proceed.

“What?”

“Well... um, sometimes you have to forgive. People you love will do things to hurt you, but they still love you, they still need you, and you still need them. Have you tried getting back together with her?” Adam had no idea why he was advising the man he loved to go back to his woman. He supposed it was because he wanted Tom to be happy, whatever it took. And, he admitted wryly to himself, it wouldn’t make much difference anyway. In the end, Tom would find a woman, and these idylls would end.

“There’s nothing there. Her brain has been addled by all the drugs she took. She got into modelling when she was only fourteen. The attention turned her head. It’s a very false-values industry. Dope after she went to Paris, and then... it wasn’t long before she was on the harder stuff. She’s an addict, Adam. Her brain’s rotted away.”

“It’s hard to keep sensible when you are surrounded with so much adulation, and you believe that you are in some way better than everybody else.”

“Bit like me, huh?” Tom smiled at Adam, self-deprecating. “Anyway there’s something I wanted to tell you, and it’s bloody important. It’s this. That night I met you on Brunswick St, I was very close to committing suicide.”

Adam hardly dared breathe.

“But I met you. And even though you hardly knew me, you took care of me, let me come home with you. And then you went on looking after me. You saved my life, Ads. I owe you for that.”

“Anybody would have done it, Tom,”

“No, Adam, only a few would’ve. And you did.”

“Well, Tom, if you must know, I don’t regret it. You are an extraordinary bloke. Anybody would be proud to call you a friend. I’m proud.”

“Thank you.” Tom’s voice had become gruff with emotion. “I feel the same about you. I know there’s something hurting inside you, and when you want to talk about it, I’m there to listen. Now,” he went on, briskly dismissing the topic, “there’s question I have for you. My house will be sold soon. And I was wondering whether I could share a flat with you. You’re my best mate, and I spend a lot of time there anyway.”

Adam didn’t hesitate, even though he knew that such a path could spell catastrophe. “Yeah. But my flat is a bit small. There’s only the lounge and the bedroom. We’ll have to move to a new flat with two bedrooms.” This was token opposition.

“Yeah, probably. But for the time being, we could live in yours. The bed is big enough.”

“What about girlfriends?”

“When either of us gets one, then we’ll have to change arrangements. And if we pick up somebody for the night, the other one will have to sleep on the sofa. But at the mo, I don’t feel like starting any new relationship. I’m pretty happy the way I am.”

Adam’s heart was beating fast. He was sure Tom could hear it. “What will people think, Tom? Two guys sharing a flat, it’s one thing. But two guys sharing a bed. That’s something else.”

“Who cares what they think? We’re not doing anything. We’ve been sharing the bed for a while, anyway. Does it bother you?”

“No. I don’t care what anybody says or thinks. They can all get stuffed. But you’re an icon of the community, a hero for thousands of schoolboys across the country. Imagine the scandal if it got out that we slept together.”

Tom shrugged. “I don’t belong to them. They weren’t there when I needed them.”

“You’ll get pissed off with me if we live together,” Adam commented.

“Doubt it.” Tom blithely dismissed this.

“Well, OK, then. When will your house be sold?”

“We sign on Tuesday. Settlement will take a couple of weeks. But I can move in any time after it’s sold. I’ll start moving my stuff on Tuesday night.”

They went in for another swim, and washed the salt off afterwards under the beach shower.

They dropped into town to the bakery, to buy some pane di casa and salad and olive oil for lunch. They had a caffè latte at a beach café. As they drank their coffees, Adam admired the curve of Tom’s pectorals and the faultless concavity of his stomach, perfectly revealed by the rash top. He felt at ease with Tom, despite the secret between them, in a way he hadn’t with any other man, except perhaps Mark, the dancer. For his part, Tom watched Adam’s face and saw the happiness in it, and was content. If he could have articulated his feelings then, he would have said that he loved Adam, not sexually, but in every other possible way, as a friend, a brother, a trusted companion. He wanted him to be happy. But he did not bother to try to understand what he felt. He just accepted it.

They went back to the cottage, and Tom made a marvellous lunch of salad, tofu, croutons. Fiona was impressed. He seemed a far from typical male. Like Mark. And the thought started a thread of worry in her mind. They sat on the veranda in the shade. The only one wondering about the precise details of their relationship was Fiona. Adam knew he was in love, and accepted it and all the misery that would one day ensue because of it. Tom knew he was with his friend, whom he loved, without fussing about how or why. Fiona wasn’t sure what was happening. She watched Tom closely, and could see plenty of obvious signs of deep affection for Adam, but nothing more. Adam was clearly in love. She wondered that Tom could be so blind that he did not see it. She was afraid to intervene, but she was girding her loins to pick up the pieces when the inevitable happened.

They went to the whale museum in Eden after lunch, and for a long walk along the national park beach afterwards. There were no more dolphins, but a troupe of kangaroos was dozing in the shade of the ti-trees next to a creek, and the two kinds of bipeds inspected each other for a few minutes before the humans went on their way.

Tom had brought his guitar with him, and that night, after a barbie out the back under a sky of star-spangled black silk, he strummed the guitar and sang softly, stopping every so often to take a sip from his glass of wine. He chose well-known easy numbers, Abba and Simon & Garfunkel and the Beatles and a series of busker favorites, and the other two sang along.

Tom and Adam had to leave at mid-day on Monday, but Fiona was staying on. She had taken a day’s leave, and would only be driving back to Melbourne the next day. All three walked down to the beach through the ti-tree forest for the guys’ last swim. As they lay on the beach afterwards, soaking up the sun, Tom said to Adam, “Thank you for asking me down. This has been the best weekend I’ve had in years.”

“No worries, Tom.” Adam had had a good time too, and had apart from that moment of doubt the first night, had been unexpectedly happy.

Fiona made bets with herself about how it would all turn out, but she was afraid that Adam’s heart would end up being broken. She thought how unfair it was that Adam was gay, or that Tom wasn’t. But her work at the welfare agency had taught her that life was inherently unfair, as if being a daughter in a poverty-stricken family in a town where cleverness was a disadvantage hadn’t already made that perfectly obvious.

Adam had yet to find his prince. She didn’t think it fair that Adam who she thought such a nice guy, so generous and kind, should have to go without love. Having found someone for herself, she wanted so much that Adam had his guy, too. She always felt that she had a better chance of finding someone. There were so many more straight men than gay. She decided to phone Adam when she got back, and have dinner with him, to see what she could do.

In a glum end-of-holiday mood, the three of them toiled back up the slope to the cottage, and packed up. Fiona told them not to worry about the sheets – she would wash them, if they would just get the generator started. Adam washed up the stuff in the sink and left it to drain. Tom packed all their gear in the boot of the BMW. As they drove back up the dirt road towards the highway, Adam turned round to wave at Fiona, and Tom tooted the horn.

<<Chapter 9

© 2009 Nigel Puerasch. All rights reserved.
Romantic m2m novels and short stories