| The Last Thing Out Of The Box A Gordon & Nathaniel Story: (Regarding their earlier days) December 1981: |
“Thanks,” Nat spoke the word automatically without looking up as the coin dropped into his battered tin. The shoes of the giver remained static on the pavement in front of him, usually, after the minimal pause to drop a coin, they passed on fairly quickly, that’s if they paused at all. He stopped playing, cocking his head on one side to examine the shoes more thoroughly. Boots he suddenly thought, not shoes, not in the proper sense, desert boots, yeah, that was the name for them, because of their colour he supposed, which would blend in with sand. Though quite why that was desirable was beyond him. If you were trekking through the desert surely your only concern would be comfort, and water, colour coordinating with the sand would be the last thing on any list of priorities. He’d seen boots like this before, he was sure of it, only less scuffed than this pair though. This pair had obviously been well worn. There was a dark stain on the front toecap of the left one and he resisted an urge to lick his finger and attempt to rub it off. “So,” said a smooth voice, “this is what you do instead of keeping your appointments with John?” Nat stared at the boots harder, even in the gathering dusk of a winter afternoon they bore a faintly disapproving look. He allowed his eyes to travel up the smart jeans to the cord jacket, and on to a very familiar, most definitely disapproving face. His stomach twisted sharply, a movement reflected by his mouth. “Well, well,” his lip peaked into an alpine sneer, “if it isn’t a wise man returned from the East. Did you find your Messiah then?” Gordon gave the pavement dweller a measured look, but otherwise paid the comment no heed, pointing at the guitar that Nat had balanced on his knees instead. “I thought we’d made a contract that this kind of activity belonged to your old way of life?” “Well, as you know, contracts are fragile things, so easily broken, it’s almost like they’re made of glass.” Nat casually picked at the strings of his guitar, “and I’ve got to earn the rent money somehow doc.” Folding his arms, Gordon sent a censorious look down the full length of his imposing nose. “Yes, I heard you’d left your job, and your college course too I believe. How long have you been sitting there, you look absolutely frozen?” Nat shrugged. “ An hour, two hours, a while, does it matter,” he felt suddenly, unaccountably tearful, bending his head in order to hide the fact. Actually he’d been there since ten that morning, aside from a short break at lunchtime when he’d sojourned to the pub in order to spend his morning’s earnings. His rent money was already three weeks in arrears; he figured another week wouldn’t make that much difference. Once seated on the pavement again, he found he lacked the energy and motivation to move, as well as the motivation to perform. He’d spent the best part of the afternoon staring mindlessly into space interspersed with playing the odd tune, if only to stop his fingers from freezing solid. Taking in Nat’s dirty clothing, his general air of self-neglect and the fact that he’d lost a fair amount of weight since last he saw him, Gordon was conscious of several emotions vying for supremacy within him. Setting aside shock, disappointment and anger, he chose concern. “You could at least have worn a jacket. Come on. You can’t sit there all evening; it’s already getting frosty. I’ll give you a lift, my car’s just over there.” Nathaniel gave a mocking grin, “don’t tell me, your contribution to care in the community is offering a taxi service to the lunatic fringe. What next, a stint in the down and out soup kitchens? Oh of course, you already do that, Saint Trapp, counsellor to the dispossessed, inept and socially hopeless.” Gordon suddenly squatted down in front of Nat. “What on earth are you playing at Nat? You haven’t kept an outpatients appointment in almost eight weeks, you’re obviously not looking after yourself, just look at you. You’re filthy. Do you want to end up being readmitted to the ward, do you? John...” “John can go to hell!” Nat’s temper surged and he lurched to his feet almost losing his balance, as his legs, cold and stiff from sitting cross-legged on the freezing pavement for so long, refused to support him. He roughly shook away Gordon’s hand as it reached to steady him, “and you’re not currently my therapist, so it’s none of your damn business anyway.” Gordon’s lips pressed themselves into twin lines of disapproval as he detected alcohol on Nat’s breath. It wasn’t only stiff legs and bad temper making him stagger then. “It’s very much my business Nathaniel Andrews!” He gripped the younger man firmly by the elbow, “John was kind enough to act as my locum while I was away, but you’re still officially my patient.” Nat found himself being compulsorily steered towards the car parked by the side of the cinema. A myriad of conflicting emotions surged through him, recognising resentment he quickly seized it, dragging it on like a familiar overcoat. “I’m quite capable of deciding whether or not I want to sit on the pavement, for how long, and with or without a jacket.” He tried to pull away from his captor, then gave a gasp, his eyes opening wide in shocked surprise as a hand discreetly descended on the seat of his trousers. Its discretional qualities did nothing to rob it of power; he felt it even though his backside was slightly numb from sitting on the cold pavement. Inclining his head, Gordon placed his mouth close to Nathaniel’s ear. “Get in that car, this minute, or I’ll bend you over the bonnet and I’ll smack your backside, with all these good people as witnesses.” Nat allowed his eyes to flicker over the line of people patiently waiting for the cinema to open, there was already a ripple of interest as the under active busker who had failed to entertain them was hustled away, and not by the police for once. “You wouldn’t dare.” “Would you care to put that theory to the test?” Gordon met the hostile glare without flinching. Nat stared into the calm face for a second or two, then got into the car, too nonplussed to do anything else. The handprint smarted on his bottom, drawing his thoughts away from all other considerations. He shifted his position slightly; raising himself to rub a tentative hand across the warm spot, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was there. “That hurt,” he said eventually. “Good.” The big man kept his eyes on the road, seemingly unperturbed by this fact. “Are you taking your medication properly Nathaniel?” “Seeing as you transferred my care to John, that’s none of your business.” Nat glared out of the window. “Why haven’t you kept your appointments with John?” “That’s also none of your business.” “You’re obviously not taking care of yourself.” “Why should that concern you?” “I called you yesterday evening, several times, and this morning, where were you?” “Well I wasn’t in India, that’s for sure,” muttered Nat. “You can’t stay angry with me forever Nat.” “Wanna bet?” “You’re not being fair, to either one of us.” “I never claimed to be Solomon did I, so fuck fairness!” “You’ve been drinking.” “So?” “So, you’re not supposed to drink with your medication.” “I didn’t drink with it.” “Are you telling me that you’ve stopped taking it?” “I’m telling you nothing Gordon, not a thing, not ever again,” said Nat bitterly. “Anyway,” he snapped, veering sharply away from the subject, “where are we going?” “I’m taking you home, where do you think we’re going, on a picnic?” “Ha-ha, very funny, pull over while I split my sides.” They drove the remainder of the way in silence. “I’ll pick you up on Monday,” said Gordon quietly as Nat got out of the car. “What for?” “For your appointment with John.” “What appointment?” “The appointment I’m going to make for you. I’m seeing John later today, I’m sure he’ll accommodate you. I’ll telephone you later to tell you what time I’ll be picking you up.” “So,” Nat used every inch of willpower he possessed to keep his voice from trembling, “you’re not going to take me on as your patient again, even though you’re back?” “You know that I can’t take you back on as my patient Nat.” Nat suddenly slapped the coin that Gordon had dropped into his tin onto the dashboard with a furious clatter. “ Here,” he snarled, “a tip for the taxi man, thanks for the ride home. I’d invite you in for coffee, only, I don’t want to.” He slammed the car door shut. Gordon pocketed the coin, wound the window down and said, “I’ll see you Monday Nathaniel. We’ll talk then. Have a good weekend, try to tidy yourself up a bit.” He drove off, his lips tightening, as his rear view mirror was adulterated by an extravagant two-fingered salute from Nathaniel. Storming into his flat, Nat flung the front door closed. Setting his guitar aside he groped for the light switch and pressed it down, jumping with fright as the light bulb popped. “Fuck,” he cursed out loud. He had no spare bulbs and knowing his fucking luck it had probably blown the entire fucking electrics. * “Did you manage to speak to him then?” John closed the office door with the heel of his shoe, shutting out sounds of seasonal jollity and holding out a glass of red wine. “There seems to be something wrong with his phone,” Gordon put the receiver down and took the glass, “thanks. Though knowing Nat, he’s probably unplugged it deliberately; either that or he’s not paid the bill and been cut off. It wouldn’t be the first time.” John sat on the edge of the desk, “when are you going to tell him?” Gordon shrugged. Leaning back in the chair he stretched out long legs, thoughtfully sipping his wine. “He didn’t seem overjoyed to see me today. Maybe the moment has passed John.” John snorted, “don’t be daft man. The moment hasn’t even arrived yet, though it’s about time you hastened it along.” Gordon grinned. “The only thing I wanted to hasten along today was my hand towards his backside, talk about an attitude.” “I must say Nat has that effect on me too at times.” John smiled, then said seriously, “I’m afraid it isn’t going to be easy for you Gordon, there’s already rumours circulating.” Gordon shrugged, “I couldn’t give a damn about rumours. I’ve been the subject of them for years, and the plain fact is that nothing improper happened between myself and Nat, and it won’t while he’s yet my patient.” “I know that, you know that, but the majority of people willingly embrace fiction in preference to fact, especially if it carries even a hint of scandal.” “It won’t really matter, not once my resignation becomes official on Monday. After that it’s my business, and Nat’s, if he ever stops punishing me for going away. You might have noticed that he’s something of a prodigious sulker when the mood takes him?” John smiled, a twinkle in his grey eyes, “well, having some idea of the strength of feeling you have for him, I didn’t like to make negative observations, but yes, I had noticed. The first few weeks after you left were particularly trying. He let me know how much he blamed me for your going away, yet point blank refused to discuss it with me rationally.” Gordon shook his head; “he knows perfectly well that the decision to go was mine alone. He just refuses to acknowledge it. Don’t worry, I’ll be setting him right on quite a few things come the glorious day.” He raised his glass, “here’s to happy Monday.” John solemnly clinked his glass against Gordon’s. “Won’t you miss the cut and thrust of National Health psychiatric practice just a little bit?” He gave a sly wink, “or at least the cut that seems to be this Government’s main obsession, cut this service, slash that, close this hospital, cut the number of beds for mental health patients, cut the social centres, after all what are park benches for?” Gordon gave a wry laugh, “ah yes, the wonders of care in the community. What it realistically means for too many is a cardboard box in a shop doorway or under a bridge.” He took another sip of wine; “I’ll miss some of the ward work, and some of the patients, but other than that, no. I realised while I was away that I’d probably have left this post anyway, not quite this soon, but eventually. It’s not what I hoped it would be, and not what I think it could be. I don’t agree with conveyor belt psychiatry. How can you help people when you’re told your main objective is not their mental well being and happiness, but getting them out of the system as quickly as possible and at a minimum cost? At the same time you’re not allowed to get closely involved, and not allowed to treat them like individuals.” He stood up, wandering over to the window, looking out onto the hospital grounds. “I’m supposed to sit behind a desk like some automaton wringing out text book theories, applying clinical formulas and if the patient doesn’t respond to the psychological A-Z of treatments currently available, you’re supposed to discard them. I have no quarrel with accepted, conventional methods, they’ve proved their worth in any number of cases, but some people need something more, something in addition, and some people simply need to be accepted and loved the way they are, that in itself helps them move forward and make the best of themselves. The trip to India was a revelation.” John smiled, “I knew that you’d find it an interesting experience. Raul and his wife are extraordinary people.” “Yes, they are, and it was certainly interesting, not that I could accept everything they taught at the centre, but on the whole, yes, it was fascinating. It fitted in with some of the theories I’ve formulated for myself over the years.” “You could go back. Raul speaks very highly of you; he was impressed with the way you threw yourself into the life of the centre. I’m sure he’d find you a place on his staff.” Gordon shook his head. “I want to stay here where I can do some good, if only for a few of those who’ve been abandoned by the system, that, and I want Nathaniel. I enjoyed my time at the centre, but there wasn’t a single day when I didn’t think about and miss him. In a way I’m glad that outside communications were so limited otherwise I’d have spent my time trying to speak to him on the phone, or writing to him instead of making the most of the situation I was in.” John nodded, “he’s missed you, only he’s turned it into resentment because he finds that easier to cope with. The sooner you two get together on a proper basis the better. I’m telling you Gordon, that boy is in self-destruct mode, push button to go. I’m looking forward to seeing him on Monday actually. I’ve got a few choice words for him, he was damned rude to me last time I telephoned to see why he’d missed yet another appointment.” He got up off the desk, “come on, you can’t hide in here all night. This will be your last official Christmas staff party, at least put in something of an appearance. You can regale everyone with tales of your visit to India, most of them will pour contempt and scorn on Raul’s amateur, ‘crackpot’ theories and methods, but at least I can enjoy listening to you argue his corner.” Gordon grinned, “Raul is more than able to argue his own corner. He’s the most charismatic man I’ve ever met. Besides, I doubt that anyone will notice if I just slip quietly away. I think I’m calm enough now to have another go at talking with Nat, and hopefully he’ll be calm enough to listen.” John interrupted, “get out there and socialise. Just remember that the venture you have in mind will need to be supported by the money you earn from private practice now, so you’ll need to maintain as many contacts as possible. There’s a potential source of referrals and donations out there,” he pointed a stern finger at the door, “so shift. You can call on sulky Simon later, on your way home.” * Nathaniel didn’t hear the soft knocking on the front door, only stirring as the flap on the letterbox rattled and something dropped onto the doormat. He made no effort to investigate, curling up tighter on the couch he’d lain down on exhausted after sating his temper. Head resting on his arms, he drifted back into an unhappy sleep. Gordon stared out of the window as the taxi taking him home, pulled away from outside Nathaniel’s flat. He’d been disappointed to find the place in complete darkness, almost as disappointed as he’d been when Nat had failed to meet him at the airport on his return home. He wondered where he was, finding it hard to believe that he’d voluntarily gone to bed at barely nine o clock at night. On impulse he asked the taxi driver to go past the cinema where he’d spotted Nat earlier that afternoon. His heart leapt as he spotted a figure with a guitar, then sank as he very quickly realised it wasn’t who he’d hoped. Obviously the cinema was a popular and potentially lucrative spot for buskers, especially if the out coming crowds had enjoyed the film and were in a happy and giving mood. Paying the taxi driver, Gordon got out, walking through the town and calling in at a few of the small pubs that Nat had been known to frequent from time to time, if only to give himself the illusion of being in company he said. Loneliness was a spectre that haunted many sufferers of mental illness. It shadowed them. You could see it in their eyes. In Nathaniel’s case it was so powerful, so tangible that it almost stood outside the boy himself, as if his light frame could not contain the burden of it any longer, as indeed his breakdown had proven. As soon as he got home Gordon tried the phone again, only to get the same dead tone. “If you’ve deliberately unplugged your telephone,” he growled into his own receiver, “I’m going to be very put out with you Nathaniel Andrews. You’re pushing your luck too far.” He put the phone down; feeling slightly better, even if the conversation had been one sided. Making himself a mug of tea he curled up in a chair to read. An hour later the page remaining unturned, he gave up all pretence, closing the book and setting it aside with a sigh. Instead, he busied himself with packing some more of his belongings into cardboard boxes, he’d take them over to the house tomorrow, the house that he’d signed the contract for today. It had all happened a littler quicker than he originally intended, but in a way he was glad of that. * Next morning, to the accompaniment of Sunday church bells, Gordon walked up the short flight of stone steps and inserted a key into the battered front door of the property he’d just acquired. As he did so, he felt a ripple of excitement; a feeling compounded when he stepped inside and gazed down the broad hallway with its multiple doors. An ideal family home, the estate agent had said as she showed him around, such big old houses were unfashionable these days, difficult to sell, hence the reasonable price, if only people realised the investment potential of them. A lot of what she’d said had been meaningless sales blurb, but that small phrase had rung true for him. This was a family home. You could feel it in the atmosphere, sense it in the fabric of the house. It had been a family home for generations past, and it was meant to be a family home again. Gordon permitted himself a smile, the ‘family’ he had in mind wouldn’t quite fit the rules of convention, but then, families took many forms. A family was simply a community that had love, respect and care at its centre. As a gay man, having a family wasn’t supposed to matter to him, many people assumed that being gay meant giving up such domestic notions. Well Gordon had no intention of giving them up, not for himself and not for the others who could benefit from the support of a family environment. Propping the door open he happily began carrying in boxes and bags. The big move would take place in between Christmas and New Year, but in the meantime he could start bringing the smaller stuff himself. It was late afternoon when hunger decreed that he lock up and head home for sustenance. The light, in typical December fashion, had long since given way to darkness and there was more than a suspicion of snow in the air as he walked to his car. He took the same route he’d taken the day before, driving past the cinema where he’d spotted Nat and his guitar. The Salvation Army Band had cottoned on to the lucrative nature of playing for cinema queues and was belting out Christmas Carols with customary zeal. Gordon drew to a halt by the curb, winding his window down a touch in order to listen to the music. He had a lot of respect for the Salvationists and the work they did with the most vulnerable and it had to be said, unattractive, in society. He nodded approvingly as he noted that the box being shaken by one of the Soldiers of Christ was receiving gratifying attention from the line of people waiting to view E.T. the film currently in vogue. Gordon suddenly frowned, winding his window down further as the collection box was politely shaken under the nose of a figure sitting glumly on the edge of the pavement. The figure in question stuck up two fingers in a decidedly uncharitable manner, giving the impression that perhaps it was unwilling to contribute to this particular worthy cause. Getting out of his car he hurried across the road to where the figure was now engaged in following up sign language with a savage, full frontal verbal interpretation. Smilingly depositing a handful of coins into the charity box of the Salvationist, who was obviously shocked at being told to shove it in such a personal location, Gordon wished him a cordial Happy Christmas, and asked him to pass on his respects to the band members for their fine efforts. He then discreetly, but firmly took hold of Nat’s arm. Nat found himself being whisked across the road to the sound of the Salvation Army Band playing Good King Wencelas. “Page and Monarch forth they went, forth they went together,” he warbled with a touch of breathless defiance, adding, “I bet you see yourself as the Monarch don’t you Gordon, where does that leave me then, page or yonder peasant? Yonder peasant I bet, where is yonder do you think, is it near the Urals or maybe even the Gorbals, oh I know, it’s near St Agnes fountain, the place is teeming with peasants I believe. Apparently, they hang around all day waiting for Monarchs to come hither with flesh, wine and pine logs. I can’t help but notice you’re a bit lacking in that department Gord. I might have to report you to the Saints and Monarchs committee for failure to divvy up the seasonal goodies.” “Shut up!” Gordon put a large hand on top of Nat’s head, thrusting him down onto the front passenger seat, and throwing his guitar onto the back, “I’m taking you home!” He briskly closed the door. “I don’t want to go home,” Nat scowled as Gordon got into the car. “Why don’t we go for a drink somewhere, after all, it is the season to be jolly, fa’la’la’ and all that crap.” “You’ve had more than enough to drink, and far too little to eat by the look of you. Moreover, it appears to have made you anything but jolly. Ill mannered and obnoxious are the terms that spring most readily to mind. There was no excuse for the abuse you gave that poor man. You’re going home and that’s all there is to it.” “You’re a spoilsport Gord, has anyone ever told you?” “The name is Gordon, and yes, I’ve had that accusation thrown at me a time or two, frankly it doesn’t concern me in the slightest.” Nat gazed at him sourly, “that’s because you’re tall. Tall people are better at being spoilsports than people of more average height. Tall people see it as their God given right to be oppressive spoilsports.” “Be quiet Nathaniel.” “See, there you go again, oppressing the little person for simply expressing an opinion.” “I said be quiet, and if I have to say it again, there’ll be trouble. You, my lad, have had over and above your quota of my seasonal goodwill!” Gordon shot a sideways look at Nat that even in the dark interior of the car had an impact. Silence reigned for the remainder of the journey. Nat staggered out of the car, trying to shake off the helping hand at his elbow. It refused to be shaken, insisting on guiding him firmly up the short path to his front door. “Okay Gord,” Nat fumbled for his key. “I can manage from here,” he made a stab for the lock, and missed. “Stay still you cunning fucker,” he muttered, stabbing again, then again. “Give me that!” Gordon deftly removed the key from Nat’s hand, quickly unlocking the door and stepping over the threshold. “Inside,” he reached out a hand and yanked Nathaniel indoors, closing the door smartly behind them. “Where’s the light switch?” On the wall to your right.” Gordon located and pressed the switch. Nothing happened, he tried again. “It’s broken.” “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?” There was a touch of exasperation in the voice. “I thought you knew everything Gord so I didn’t bother,” there was more than a touch of mockery in the voice. “The kitchen light works okay, just follow me. I hope all your shots are up to date.” Nat crunched his way down the dark passageway. Gordon followed, wondering what he was crushing underfoot. Staring around the tiny kitchen he felt his vexation edge up the scale, as he saw the piled debris of weeks, possibly months that cluttered the sink and every available surface. Seeing the note he’d posted through the door the evening before, scattered in torn remnants across the floor, further heightened his vexation. He didn’t attempt to pick it up, judging from the way his feet were sticking to the surface it would be a virtually impossible task. The note had probably become an indelible part of the filthy collage that constituted Nat’s kitchen floor. “Don’t you ever wash or clean up in here?” “Nah, it only gets mucky again, so why bother.” Nat lurched for the fridge, “anyway, the germs reach a certain level and then they start eating each other, before you know it they’ve cleaned themselves up. It’s a perfectly balanced ecological system. I should be nominated for a Greenpeace award really.” “So,” Gordon was unimpressed with Nat’s environmental theory, “the diary you fill in outlining the tasks you complete on a day to day basis has been a total fabrication?” “Yep,” Nat’s head was thrust inside the fridge as he foraged for something in its unhygienic depths, but there was a cheeky grin in his voice. “I just tell you and dear John what you want to hear. It keeps you happy, a job well done, a soul saved, and all that shit!” Gordon pursed his lips. Scanning the kitchen he found what he wanted, two boxes of pills. Checking the dates and tipping the contents of first one, then the other onto his hand, it confirmed his suspicion that Nathaniel had not been taking his medication properly for some time. He slipped the boxes into his pocket. Nat gave a yelp of indignation as the beer can was taken from his hands and deposited into the smelly, overflowing waste bin. “I told you that you’d had enough to drink, and this place is utterly disgusting. It’s a miracle you haven’t gone down with something. You ought to be thoroughly ashamed of yourself.” “Is that a fact Gord?” Nat’s sarcastic retort turned into another yelp, his eyes widening with shock, as for the second time that weekend a granite hand exploded onto his rear. “Fuck I wish you’d stop doing that!” Gordon looked at Nathaniel sternly, “get some things together, pyjamas, a change of clothes. You’re not fit to be left alone. You’re coming back with me, where I can keep an eye on you and make sure you keep your appointment with John. You need a review of your medication if nothing else.” “I don’t f...” Gordon raised a warning finger. “If the rest of that word emerges I’ll be seriously put out Nathaniel, I mean it.” Nat erupted. “Who do you think you are, mister squeaky clean, swanning back from India like some Maharaja, then coming in here and laying down the law about what I drink and what I say? This is my dump, if I want to fucking swear, and drink in it, I fucking will, and if you don’t like it, you can just fuck off, cos it’s none of your business!” As Nathaniel gave vent to his temper, Gordon calmly walked over to the sink, rinsing out a cloth under the tap. Pulling out one of the grubby kitchen chairs he wiped it down, then dried it. The floor was horrifyingly dirty. Nat hadn’t really noticed just how filthy it was until his nose hovered inches above its germ encrusted surface. He was slightly puzzled as to why he was seeing it from this strange angle, he hadn’t popped anything but prescription drugs for a good while, and not that many of those. The seat of his worn jeans flinched as an almighty wallop landed dead centre on them, causing him to emit a gasp. If he was on a trip, it looked like it was going to be an unpleasant one. “Hey,” he spluttered, quickly sobering as another stinging slap landed, “what are you doing?” “For heavens sake Nathaniel, work it out,” said Gordon crisply. “What do you think I’m doing, whistling Dixie? If you insist on behaving like a foul mouthed, foul mannered, moody adolescent, then I’m going to treat you as such, and in my philosophy such behaviour deserves a good spanking. You’ve been goading me since the moment you clapped eyes on me and I’m tired of it.” He spanked hard for a few minutes, until his palm began to sting. Quickly scanning the cluttered formica table he spotted a solid looking plastic spatula. It still had egg traces on it, but that hardly mattered, Nat’s jeans were encrusted with dirt, a few more stains wouldn’t make much difference. Nathaniel bellowed as the eggy spatula lashed his bottom, even through his jeans, its sting brought water to his eyes. He couldn’t reach back to protect his rear with his hands because of the way Gordon was holding him, but he made good use of both his vocal chords and his lower limbs, hollering loudly with one, and kicking out wildly with the other. “You can’t do this,” he shouted desperately, “it’s not right.” “I am doing it, and doing it rather well, if that isn’t too immodest of me.” Gordon zealously applied the spatula to the jean-clad bottom draped over his lap, “and the only thing that isn’t right is your attitude, which I aim to correct.” Nat’s prayers were seemingly answered when the bulb in the kitchen blew, plunging them into darkness. The spanking thankfully ceased “I don’t suppose that you’ve got a spare bulb?” Gordon hoisted Nat into a vertical position once more. “You suppose right,” snapped Nat, squirming from foot to foot, furiously rubbing at the heat radiating through the denim fabric of his jeans. “In that case, we’d better sojourn to another room in order to complete this conversation.” “You’re so sure of yourself, aren’t you Gordon?” Nathaniel used sarcasm to offset the desire to cry. It was bad enough getting a spanking at his age, he’d be damned if he’d cry over it as well. “Yes Nathaniel, I am, and if you’re expecting me to apologise for it then you’ll be very disappointed.” Gordon searched for Nat’s hand in the dark, grasping it securely. “What exactly am I crunching underfoot?” he demanded as he pulled him towards the living room. “Glass,” muttered Nat. “Glass, where from?” “The living room door.” “What is the glass from the living room door doing on the hall floor?” “What do you think it’s doing Gordon, a fucking impression of a Roman Mosaic, door glass with delusions of grandeur perhaps, arranging itself into intricate floor designs, maybe it needs psychiatric assessment?” “I’m going to wash your mouth out if you use the F word once more today. You’ve got a perfectly adequate vocabulary without resorting to that every five minutes,” Gordon abruptly halted in the dark passage causing Nat to bump into him. His voice took on the qualities of a shard of glass, “I asked you a reasonable and civil question. Why is the glass from the door all over the floor?” “Its there because I put it there,” yelled Nat defensively, “okay, I put it there. I didn’t like the way it looked in the door and I thought it would look better spread across the floor, kind of modern art...Ouch!” The dark didn’t seem to prevent Gordon’s hand, which still held the spatula, from locating his backside. “I want a civil answer young man. How did broken glass come to be lying all over this floor?” “I hate it when you call me young man, I bet you’re not all that much older than I am!” “My age in relationship to yours is immaterial, but for the record I’m five years older than you are. Now stop prevaricating, and answer my question or I’ll be forced to take stern action!” “It happened yesterday,” admitted Nat sulkily. “The light in the passage popped, I knew I didn’t have another bulb, and I thought it had probably blown the whole circuit and...” he trailed off. “And what Nathaniel?” “The glass fell out of the door,” Nat cleared his throat, thankful for the dark which concealed his blushes. “I think it was loose.” “In other words you kicked out the glass panel in a shameful display of bad temper,” said Gordon calmly, “did you hurt yourself?” “Not really, just a small cut on my ankle.” “I’ll check that later. Had the whole circuit blown?” “No,” Nat scowled into the dark, then blinked as Gordon located the light switch in the living room. There were a few seconds of total silence during which the warmth in Nat’s backside seemed to expand and spread over his entire body and face. “It’s a pity you didn’t check out your pessimistic theory before going on a temper fuelled rampage, was one humble little light bulb really worth all this destruction?” Gordon gazed grimly around the devastated room. “This is really too bad of you Nathaniel.” “It’s not my fault,” muttered Nat. “Oh, and whose fault is it then?” Gordon turned the gaze on Nat. Nat turned his gaze on the floor, giving a petulant little shrug, “bipolar rage, there’s nothing I can do about it.” “Absolute tosh!” The mystery of the non-ringing telephone was solved as Gordon spotted it in a corner of the room, wires wrenched out. “A mammoth tantrum,” he said quietly, “that’s what this is. One long, disgraceful fit of pique that has nothing to do with light bulbs or anything else, you know it, and I know it.” He held out the implement that he’d brought from the kitchen, “hold this.” Nat, rather bemusedly, took the spatula out of Gordon’s hand. “Hold it with both hands please. Don’t let go of it whatever happens, can you do that for me Nathaniel?” The electric blue eyes stared intently into his and Nat found himself nodding. “Good.” Gordon smiled and then deftly unfastened Nat’s jeans, yanking them down, noting that he wore no underwear. “Well,” he murmured, “saves me some effort I suppose.” He sat on the couch. Before he could offer protest or struggle, Nat found himself face down across Gordon’s lap. “No,” he shouted, as the spatula was whisked from his hands and the awful truth dawned, “you can’t do this!” Holding the spatula aloft, Gordon said softly, “I declare this marathon sulking session officially closed.” Nat let out a shriek as plastic collided with flesh. The sting had been notable enough over his jeans, but on his unprotected buttocks it was positively fearsome. “You’ve behaved appallingly while I’ve been away, absolutely appallingly.” Gordon vigorously spanked every inch of Nat’s bare bottom, “not attending your appointments, not taking your tablets, throwing in your college course, your job, not looking after yourself or your home. You’ve deliberately sabotaged all your hard won achievements, let down all the people who have cared for you, and about you, and most of all you’ve let yourself down. I want an explanation.” Nat’s throat ached with the effort of holding back the tears he’d been fighting since setting eyes on Gordon again. “You dumped me,” he croaked. “You passed me onto John, like I didn’t matter, then you went off to bloody India like some latter day hippie. You rejected me!” Gordon walloped the makeshift paddle down harder still, deepening the colour of Nat’s buttocks by several shades. “I did no such thing. There isn’t even a modicum of truth in those words, is there? You knew that ethically speaking I could not continue to have direct care of you, not once I knew for certain that the attraction I felt for you was mutual. As for the India trip, it had been planned for the best part of eighteen months.” “You didn’t have to go.” Nat screeched, as the spatula began to pay meticulous attention to the tender under curves of his backside. “You should have cancelled it.” “True, I didn’t HAVE to go. I could have just let down the people who had helped me arrange it and who were looking forward to my input. I could have thrown away the money it had cost, lost the opportunities it offered, but the fact is I wanted to go. I needed to go. Do my needs not matter to you Nathaniel? I told you how important the trip was to me, you told me that you understood, are you now saying that wasn’t true, and that your need was more important than mine?” The pain in Nat’s backside reached emergency levels and his tears refused to be held back for a second longer. “I didn’t want you to go,” he wept, “I was afraid that once you got out there you wouldn’t want to come back, not for a loser like me anyway, and I was right wasn’t I? I was right.” “And what exactly does that mean?” Gordon stopped smacking the scarlet bottom. “You promised me faithfully that you were coming back,” sobbed Nat, finally managing to get a hand back to clutch his tortured backside, “but I walked past your house a week or so ago and it had a sold sign up.” “What has that got to do with anything?” “It means you’re going back out there permanently, that you lied to me, you rotten sod.” “Does it indeed?” Gordon rearranged Nat’s weight slightly, “tell me, did you receive the letter I sent?” “Can I get up now?” “No. Answer the question. Did you get my letter?” “Yes.” “So how come you’ve reached the conclusion that selling my house, which incidentally, has been on the market for some time, meant I planned to return to India on a permanent basis?” Nat’s attempts to maintain a dignified silence lasted only as long as it took Gordon to bring the hated object back into play. Fucking evil spatula! He shrieked afresh as it contacted his smouldering buttocks, he’d never turn a fried egg with it again. “You didn’t read it!” Gordon flung aside the spatula and reverted to using his hand, feeling a need to express his disappointment and disapproval more intimately. “You didn’t read it,” his hand smacked down hard on the hot bottom, “did you Nathaniel?” “No,” howled Nat. “I thought it was a Dear John letter, I couldn’t bear to read it.” The painful onslaught on his backside suddenly ceased and he was hauled upright. “Get it,” said Gordon sharply, as he helped Nat adjust his jeans, “now, go on, get me the letter, if you can locate it in this hell hole, bring it to me.” Nat rubbed a trembling hand across his flushed, tear soaked face, “who do you think you are, hitting me like that and ordering me around?” “I know who I am. I’m someone who cares for you deeply, and I didn’t hit you, I gave you a well deserved, long overdue spanking, and if you don’t do as you’re told and get that letter, you’ll be getting another one.” “I can’t get it, I destroyed it. It came the day after I saw you’d sold your house. I was upset, I thought you were writing to say....” he trailed off, shivering under the intense coldness of Gordon’s eyes. “Do you think I was lying when I told you that I returned your feelings wholeheartedly, did the words I used lack sincerity? Even if your suppositions were true, do you really think I’m so fickle, so cowardly that I’d send you a letter rather than speak to you personally?” Nat began to weep harder, “you didn’t exactly dash around to see me when you got back from India, did you? You obviously broke your neck to see John though. How else would you know about my missing appointments and everything?” Gordon ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve had enough of this and I’m not prepared to discuss the matter any further, not here, get some things together.” “I haven’t got any things to get together,” Nat felt a flush of shame suddenly overcome him. “Not clean things anyway, I’m a bit behind with washing and such like. Do you think I’d go around with no undies on in the middle of winter if I didn’t have to?” Gordon shook his head, “I’m saddened by your behaviour Nathaniel. I really am. Saddened and frankly disgusted, you’re capable of so much more than this. Get your laundry together then, you can do it at my place.” “What if I don’t want to?” “Yes or no?” “Yes.” Nat didn’t hesitate. Gordon’s patience handed in its resignation with immediate affect. Swiftly whisking Nat around, he walloped a hand across his bottom several times, and then whisked him back again, wagging a finger under his nose. “Then stop game playing, get your things together and do it quickly, or I’ll turn you back over my knee and make sitting something that others do, while you can only look on in envy.” “Make no mistake,” Gordon pulled the door of the flat closed and checked that it was locked properly. “You’ll clean that place from top to bottom tomorrow, its second on the list of priorities after your appointment at the hospital.” As they walked towards the car the first snowflakes began to fall, thickening by the second. Driving away, the atmosphere inside the vehicle was blanketed in heavy silence, a silence that the snow seemed to accentuate as it spiralled and danced in the car headlights. Gordon kept his eyes on the road ahead and his expression in neutral, but Nat, glancing at him from under lowered lashes, sensed that there was a lot going on beneath the seemingly calm surface. He wondered if, like him, Gordon was replaying the scene that had just taken place inside the flat. While it was true that he’d been pushing to provoke a response, the response he got was not what he’d expected at all. However, what really surprised Nathaniel was the realisation that he had thoroughly deserved the treatment he’d received. Gordon knew exactly why he’d behaved the way he had, not from inability, or incompetence, or illness, but because he’d wanted to get back at Gordon for going away, and he’d known instinctively that the best way to hurt him, was to hurt himself. Nat kept his head down, fighting tears of remorse and shame He wanted to say something, say sorry, but somehow the word seemed inadequate, shallow, so he stayed quiet. Gordon inserted his key into the lock of his front door, opening it with fluid ease. Nat noted this small fact with a touch of resentment; it was only his lock that roamed wild and free about his front door then. He hesitated outside as Gordon stepped into the house and switched the hall light on. Gordon gave a small smile, motioning Nat inside. “Come in, let’s get the door closed against this weather. Go and take a hot shower, there’s towels in the airing cupboard, leave those dirty clothes out on the landing, they can go in with your other stuff. ” Nat stared at the taller man blankly, “I’ve never been here before Gordon. I don’t know where everything is.” “Of course you don’t,” Gordon was immediately contrite, “I’ll take you up and show you around. I’ll make up the guest bed for you later.” Standing under the stream of warm water in the shower Nat gently kneaded his bottom cheeks, which were still sore from having Gordon’s right hand and the spatula roaming across their surface with such startling efficiency. After his shower he sat miserably on the edge of the, as yet unmade, bed in the guest room, wondering whether he could go down and face a man who had just spanked him to tears. The same man he’d longed to see for so many weeks, whose space he’d wanted to share, whose voice he’d ached to hear, whose face he pictured night after night, and who, he realised, he’d let down very badly. The tears threatened again and Nat lay back on the bed staring up at the light fitting with blurred vision. He’d messed everything up as usual. Gordon would probably review his plans to stay in England after this. An appetising smell drifted slowly up the stairs and Nat’s deprived stomach growled a demand. He sat up, reaching resignedly for the shirt that had kindly been left out for him to wear in lieu of clean clothing of his own. It was no use hiding, knowing Gordon, he’d only come up and get him anyway. This thought actually lent Nathaniel courage. It was true, Gordon would come up and get him, he might have spanked him, but there had been no hint of contempt in the action. There was no need to hide, he smiled slightly as he buttoned the shirt up, pleasurably aware that Gordon himself had worn it. “That smells nice.” “Just canned soup and sandwiches,” Gordon looked up with a smile, and then stared, his stomach contracting at the sight of Nat standing shyly in the kitchen doorway. Never, Gordon swallowed slightly, never had that pale blue, heavy cotton shirt looked as devastatingly sexy on him as it now looked on Nathaniel, sleeves folded back several times, hem poised just above his knees. God, he was a beautiful boy, he’d thought it from the moment they’d met. “Ouch!” He dropped the knife with a clatter as it sliced through the end of his thumb instead of the end of the tomato he’d been slicing when Nat had walked into the kitchen. “Let me see.” Nat was by Gordon’s side in seconds, reaching for his left hand, pulling it close to inspect the damage. “I don’t think it needs stitches, but you’ll need to clean and cover it, have you got any tape?” Gordon nodded towards a cupboard below the sink, “there’s a first aid box in there.” He put the damaged thumb in his mouth to suck away the blood, watching mesmerised as Nat journeyed across the kitchen to get the box. “There, that should hold it,” Nat gently stuck the edges of the Elastoplast down. “Thank you.” Gordon smiled down into the dusk blue eyes, his arm, which seemed to have found its way around Nat’s waist, tightened, drawing the slender figure close. He felt the intense rhythm of his own heartbeat echoed by that of Nathaniel’s as it pounded in his chest. A sudden loud hissing sound startled them both and they drew quickly apart. “Dam!” Gordon made a lunge for the cooker, “the soup has boiled over.” He deftly removed the pan from the ring and then turned back to Nat. “Sit down,” he ordered, pulling out a chair out for him. “You look a bit shaky.” Nat sat down carefully at the table, still conscious of some tenderness in his hindquarters. He was also conscious of how ravenously hungry he was, waiting with barely concealed impatience as Gordon shared the soup between two bowls, finally setting one before him. Less than a minute or so later he was heaving most of it into the sink. “When did you actually last eat something?” Gordon wiped Nat’s sweating face with a handful of damp paper kitchen towels. Nat picked up a tone in Gordon’s voice that told of reawakened displeasure. He shrugged cautiously. “How long Nathaniel?” The displeasure became still more evident. “Promise you won’t be cross with me again?” “No, and if I have to repeat the question again I’ll be more than cross.” Nat began shaking like the last leaf on a tree in an autumn gale. “I’ve been too miserable to eat much. I’ve missed you,” tears began to slide rapidly down his pale cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much, I thought you were never coming home and then when I finally saw you yesterday, standing there, I thought I was having a hunger induced hallucination...” “How long Nathaniel?” The voice was quiet, gentle, but held a note of insistence that could not be ignored. “Three or four days.” Nose perched a few inches above its surface, Nat conceded that Gordon’s kitchen floor was indeed much, much cleaner than his own. His admiration of its pristine state was cut short as the hem of his shirt was flipped up and a hand descended on his bare bottom. He gave a howl of anguish, but that didn’t stop the hand rising and descending a good dozen or more times leaving his buttocks hot and stinging all over again. The floor then disappeared from view and he suddenly found himself sitting on the lap he’d just been lying over. The transition from front to rump hurt, but he didn’t dare say so, not with a pair of fierce, ice blue eyes glaring at him. “I love you,” Gordon wiped Nat’s tears with more efficiency than gentleness. “I adore you, but if you ever, ever neglect to feed and care for yourself, either physically or emotionally, again, I will flay skin from your bottom, especially if you do it as a means of revenge on me. Do you understand me Nathaniel?” Nat nodded his understanding with alacrity. Gordon took a deep breath, caressing Nat’s face gently with his fingers. “Don’t you think I missed you too?” He smiled a little sadly, “if you’d bothered to actually read the contents of the letter instead of surmising them, you’d have known exactly when I was due home, and you’d have been at the airport to meet me the day before yesterday.” The vivid eyes flickered, “I walked miles to mail that wretched letter, and the journey home was bearable only because I thought I’d see you at the end of it. How did you think I felt when you weren’t there? I felt deeply hurt, just as I felt hurt when I saw how you’d conducted yourself while I was away. That was your objective though, wasn’t it darling, to hurt me, to get back at me for going ahead with the trip, and also because you feared that my declaration wasn’t as real as yours, isn’t that true Nat?” Nat reached his arms around Gordon’s neck, hugging hard. “Sorry,” he whispered, “I’m so very sorry about the letter, about not being there to meet you, about everything. I let you down badly. You’re right, I was scared, scared that you said you had feelings for me only out of pity, and that once you were away from me, you’d realise that, and regret saying you wanted a relationship. It seemed better to be angry than frightened, a kind of self defence.” He gave a derogatory little laugh, “and why would you want a relationship with me, I’m a useless idiot?” “You’re not perfect, neither am I, but you are neither useless, nor an idiot and I don’t want to hear you use those terms in relation to yourself again. You have to learn to trust me Nathaniel, trust me completely. You also have to remember that you’re a special person, more than deserving of love, and that just because something doesn’t go the way you’d prefer it to go at any given time, it doesn’t amount to a rejection.” Wrapping his arms tightly around Nat’s waist, Gordon said seriously, “I think what you need more than anything in your life is structure, stability, discipline, and a lot of love. I can provide all that Nat, if you let me.” They looked at each other. Gordon wasn’t sure who made the first move, he only knew that when their lips met he thought he’d pass out with excitement at the most passionate kiss he’d ever experienced. “Stay with me Nathaniel,” Gordon finally caught his breath enough to speak, “stay with me always.” “ I love you,” Nat’s heart was working overtime and his light-headedness was due in no part to hunger, “but what about your work? Even if I discharge myself from the system, it will still be difficult for you. People will look on it as a scandal, you having an affair with someone who was a patient, and a same sex one at that. The health authority might dismiss you for professional misconduct or something. I couldn’t bear to be responsible for putting you through that.” Gordon laid his fingers against Nat’s lips, “they can’t, because I’ve resigned, that’s another thing you would have learned had you read that letter. I’m happy to have done so; therefore no misplaced guilt is required or desired on your part. Incidentally, let’s get one thing clear; you are not yet ready to be fully discharged. You need clinical support and you need it from someone who is able to detach themselves from you in a way I can never do again.” “So,” a hint of sulkiness crept into the voice. “I’m stuck with old sober sides John?” “No,” Gordon’s eyes narrowed slightly. “He’s stuck with you, and you owe him several apologies for wasting his precious time, and for using him as a scapegoat for your disgruntlement with life. You’re keeping that appointment tomorrow, you’re going to be charm itself and if you’re not, you’ll have me to deal with. John’s a good friend as well as a professional colleague. He could have helped and supported you during our separation if you’d given him half a chance.” Nat’s stomach cut short the lecture by suddenly giving an enormous growl. Gordon grinned, “you sound like the present I brought you back from India.” “Present,” Nat’s face lit up. “You brought me a present, a present that growls, what is it, a tiger, it has to be a tiger if it growls and it’s from India?” Gordon shook his head, “it might be an elephant with stomach ache. Anyway, I’m not telling, and you’re not getting it until you’ve had something to eat, after which you’re going straight to bed.” Nat scowled, “does extreme bossiness come naturally to you Gordon, or is it something you’ve worked hard to achieve?” “A natural gift I believe,” said Gordon cheerfully. Nat ran his fingers seductively through Gordon’s hair, “anyway, oh high and mighty one, you can’t send me to bed.” “Oh can’t I?” “Nope,” Nat smirked, “because you haven’t made me a bed up yet.” Gordon kissed Nat’s throat before saying, “as we’ve just become betrothed, I think it perfectly appropriate that you consider my bed to be our bed from now on.” “Betrothed!” Nat laughed delightedly, “I like it.” His eyes sparkled with the light of mischief, “do you promise not to molest me?” “Yes,” sighed Gordon, “I promise.” “In that case I’m not going to bed,” Nat let out a shriek as he was tickled. “However,” Gordon twirled the ends of an imaginary villainous moustache, “the promise is only good until a second after midnight, after which I am no longer in the employ of anyone but myself, you are no longer my patient, and I am therefore free to ravish you completely and without mercy.” “I can’t wait.” Nat leaned his head against Gordon’s chest, “where are we going to live now you’ve sold your house. Are you planning on moving into my place?” “Listen poppet,” Gordon kissed the top of Nat’s head. “I wouldn’t move a rat into your place, not after the state you’ve let it get in. Don’t worry, I’ve got plans, which you’d...” “Have known about had I read your letter instead of tearing it into confetti.” Nathaniel sighed, “are you ever going to let me forget that letter?” “No.” Gordon tried to look serious, but failed, “well, eventually, once the ten mile round trip, in the sweltering heat, on foot, it took to post it has faded from my memory. Jump up now sweetheart, before you get me too excited to walk, let alone keep my promise not to molest you. Besides, I want to heat you some more soup, we’ll take it more slowly this time.” “It’s got your colour eyes.” Nat squeezed the plush Bengal Tiger, grinning as a roar reverberated around the bedroom, “it growls like you too.” Kneeling up on the bed he hooked an arm around Gordon’s neck and kissed him, “thank you, it’s beautiful. I love it and I’ll treasure it always.” He lay back down on the bed, suddenly tired, “don’t leave me on my own Gordon, please, I want you near me.” Gordon nodded. “I’ve got some paper work that needs to be completed and taken in tomorrow, I can just as easily do it up here. I’ll just finish off downstairs first.” When he re-entered the bedroom less that half an hour later, Nat was sound asleep, the stuffed tiger clutched to his chest. Slipping in beside him Gordon was conscious of a deep sense of peace and happiness. This was his soul mate, he knew it, had known it the first time that Nathaniel’s eyes had made contact with his, and the shadow of loneliness within them had receded a little, along with the shadow in his own heart. Nat seemed to sense he was there, instinctively moving closer. * “Needs a lot of work,” Nat gazed up at the house with interest. “How do you know,” teased Gordon, “you haven’t even been inside yet?” “I just know,” Nat slipped an arm through Gordon’s and leaned against him unselfconsciously. “The house is talking to me, it wants us to move in. It wants us to move in and make it live again, look at its friendly expression, if ever a house was capable of smiling, this is it.” “I know what you mean,” Gordon turned his eyes to the house. “I liked it the moment I saw it, I felt a connection in some strange way.” He put a hand in his coat pocket for his keys, “come on. Let’s get inside before we freeze. The central heating is a bit archaic, but it functions well enough for the time being.” “Home!” Nat stepped over the threshold, halting abruptly in the hallway. “Gordon,” he turned wondrous eyes on his partner, “I’m home. I’m really home.” Gordon caught him in his arms. “We’re both home,” he said, seeking Nat’s lips. Nat gave a sigh of contentment; “I suppose this ought to be our bedroom seeing as we’ve just made love in it.” Gordon pulled him closer against his side. “We’ve made love, of one kind and another, in three of the bedrooms so far.” “I know, but I feel we really peaked here.” “True, this is definitely our room then.” Gordon gave his watch a regretful glance, “I suppose we really ought to go now, do some shopping or something, after all it’s Christmas Eve.” “I’ve done enough today. I had John bending my ear for an hour, and then you made me clean my flat from top to bottom, and you didn’t raise a finger to help.” “I wasn’t responsible for the mess it was in.” “I could argue that point.” “And I could spank you and stand you in a corner for an hour or so.” “I’ll shut up then shall I?” “Very wise.” “HOPE!” “Pardon?” Gordon looked startled as Nat suddenly sat up straight and said the single word in Archimedean fashion. “The name for the house, we’ve got to have a name.” Nathaniel lay back down on the pile of blankets they’d improvised as a bed. “Do you remember when I tried to tell you how I felt when I had my breakdown, how all the things I’d crammed and hidden away inside my mind suddenly came tumbling out, and there was nothing I could do to stop them. I felt like I’d opened Pandora’s box and unleashed all manner of bad things that I could never defeat.” He stopped speaking, fighting a sudden surge of emotion. Gordon took his lover’s hands and held them, “it’s alright,” he said gently. “Take your time.” “You said that then as well,” Nat smiled shakily as he got himself under control. “You knelt down in front of me and you took my hands and you asked me if I could remember what the last thing was to flitter from Pandora’s box. Do you remember Gordon?” “Of course,” Gordon smiled. “Hope was the last thing out of the box, the one thing that could help the world bear all the unhappiness unleashed by poor Pandora. Hope House, yes,” he nodded. “I like that, Hope House it is.” “Mmm,” Nat emerged from a blissful kiss, “shouldn’t we be going Christmas shopping or something. I haven’t got you a present yet and we haven’t got a turkey or anything?” Gordon pulled Nat back under the blankets, “darling you’ve named our house, that’s gift enough, along with you. As for turkey, the shops are open for another hour or two yet, there’s plenty of time, we’ll probably get something cheap.” “Shouldn’t that be something gobble, seeing as we’re talking turkey and not chicken?” “Nat?” “Yes?” “Shut up and kiss me.” “Shutting up and kissing you even as we speak.” “The new owners sound happy,” Mrs Driscoll, Gordon and Nat’s neighbour in waiting, glanced up at the open window from where laughter was sounding. She lowered her voice, “I think they’re a pair of them their homosapiens you know. I saw them linking arms in broad daylight before they went inside.” Mr Driscoll, raking dead leaves from his lawn spoke sourly, “I don’t care what religion they are. I just hope they’re going to be a bit quieter than this in future.” The end. Copyright Cat/fabianblack 2008 |