Dear Mona Lisa... Read online

  Most of them.

  ****

  “Show me the buffet pictures?” We settled in to read our books in bed. I hadn’t done the deed, no. I spent all afternoon with Jenny trying to research wedding outfits, and Hikmat patting my arm each time he walked past to the toilets. My nervous energies were ebbing towards the low side of nil. Still, Jenny and Hikmat knew, so it was only a matter of time before I seized the bull by the horns and gave it a tickle.

  I'd asked him six months ago, on the canal path between Apperley Bridge and Thackley. There was one lovely spot where we often sat to watch the ducks. Years ago I’d brought Lou—at first in a buggy, then shoulders, and soon her little feet were running along beside. I could draw a map of the path with the best places for Pooh sticks and wild garlic. I knew where foxes hid and the trees with highest nests. I noticed—tearfully—at her graduation, a painting of the canal. Sadly, I hadn’t yet seen the rest of the collection because it won that award and was being prepared ready to show at a Paris gallery.

  You could say it was a special place. Quiet, ordinary. I don’t suppose up there with the Leaning Tower of Piza or the horses of the Camargue, not for most people. Any place you’d spent time on a Sunday afternoon with people you loved was precious.

  We’d sat down, like always, on the bench. I kept looking from one end to the other of the tow path, waiting until it was empty. It had been bloody freezing.

  “I think it might be too cold to sit for long,” Loz had said, shivering. “Did we bring a flask?” I was not a person given to grand gestures. Too shy and quiet; happy to sit back and watch other people do the speeches. And to be perfectly honest, where I found the strength that day was not in overwhelming declarations, no. But from rustling trees and the ringing that came from a place like that.

  I’d thrown myself down—on one cronky knee—and felt for the ring in my pocket.

  “What’re you doing?” Loz tried to drag me back up. “Did you trip?”

  I batted him off, and then the giggles got me. My knee gave an almighty creak as I thrust the ring towards him. “Will you?”

  His eyebrows shot right up into his hair, and his face went all molten. The citrus was sharp and tangy on my tongue and eyes, in my heart.

  “Marry me?” I clarified. “I mean, I don’t come with much, but I do have most of my teeth and...”

  He got down on the path, on his knees. I was still laughing, and so was he but it ended up all right. I don’t suppose two older gentlemen had any business kissing on the ground like that, with tongues and orange bubbles.

  “Well, that depends,” he said, after a while. “Do you come with any sheep?”

  “Yes. Three sheep and an old fob watch I inherited from my uncle.”

  “Yes!”

  He’d pulled us both up onto the bench, and this time the kiss was all mingled up with memories. It had ended in a little cry for both of us.

  “What’re you thinking about, love? You’ve gone all smiley.” He pummelled pillows like he hated them. Curls fell about his face. Next, he’d smooth the sheets with an expression of intense concentration.

  “When I asked you.”

  “Aw.” He finally got in and slung his leg across mine. “I was so surprised. Never even thought it was on the cards I’d get so lucky!”

  “I’m a man of mystery and surprise.” For instance, Jenny could never tell if it would be custard cream or Marie biscuits for our Thursday afternoon treat.

  “You really are, darling.” Rivers of papaya kissiness went up and down my back. If we didn’t look at the buffet information now, we’d be doing other exciting things instead. He shifted his leg higher, and winked.

  “Let’s have a look at those pictures, then.” Loz was in charge of all the food and arrangements, though I'd chosen and booked the venue. “Hope you went overboard.”

  His laugh tickled my neck.

  “Right, so we’re having the wedding buffet from the Kashmir.” He produced leaflets from under the bed where they had clearly been waiting for such an opportunity. The bed bounced from his eagerness.

  “I should hope so.” I’d taken Lou there for years of Friday night teas, because you could bring your own drinks and get two curries for under a fiver. Some weeks I could only afford one. The staff had always made a great fuss, showing her the kitchens and cooking. “I love the Kash.”

  “I know you do. “ He kissed me. “Mm. I went for the priciest option because it looks so nice.” Loz, he’d never been married, though of course there were previous boyfriends and partners. I don’t know what I expected when I first started thinking of marriage and if we were both too old...How many people would it upset...Lou. “Hey! You’re meant to be looking at the booklets, not me.”

  Nothing could be finer than snuggling in bed with a cuppa tea. I couldn’t imagine my IBS being calm enough to allow me to eat much on Saturday, though. “It looks lovely. Vegetarian?”

  “Both options.”

  “Are we having alcohol?” Always a sore point. I hadn’t touched a drop for years but didn’t like to be around it much, and of course, there’d be lots of non-drinkers.

  He squeezed my leg. “Both. After the ceremony, there’ll be Cava and non-alcoholic fizz. Then, juices and no alcohol cocktails all night, as well as tea and coffee. Don’t think we want people pissed, do we? I want to be able to talk and celebrate, not have to watch them compete for the drunkest. Not that they would, but some of my nieces and nephews are party animals.” He twinkled. “I want people to remember.” The bed bounced again.

  “You’ve thought of everything.”

  He not quite winced and looked away. A knotting deep in my stomach gave a violent twist. I chose to ignore it because there was still time enough to build the final walls of Rome.

  Chapter three

  The morning sky was grey and white with streaks of violent silver. I stared through the bathroom window for a few minutes, teasing through the colours. Coldness made my toes scrunch, so I went back to bed with Loz and tried to plan exactly how to start.

  Eventually, I drove to her house and sat in my car, thinking. The text was written on my phone all ready.

  Kathy, I’m outside. Can I come in?

  It was my ex-wife who’d saved us from a lifetime of it, in the end. Lou was a month under one and the house full of plastic toys and baby gurgles. If you ignored the nightmares and increasingly silent dinners, it was domestic bliss.

  “I’m sorry,” she’d said. “I thought having the baby would make it all right—better—anyway. But seeing all the families makes it worse.”

  “It’s my fault. I haven’t given you enough attention. I’m sorry. I’ll try harder!”

  “No, it’s not your fault or mine.” She’d moved to the old sofa and took my hand. “It seems so dishonest now. I don’t think I want Lou growing up with that. The world’s changing, Tom. We both deserve more.”

  I’d moved out, into the flat at the top of the block because it was all we could afford. Kathy and Lou stayed in our house though Lou lived with me for a while once Kathy started at the University. My parents helped out, and that is how Lou became granddad’s little princess. For years, we were ants running the hive. Even ragged, I was happy enough.

  Kathy and I spoke more after the split than we did before—about birthday parties and school reports—then Kathy’s boyfriends. It was a funny twist of fate, but it seemed I was good at giving her advice.

  And it was Kathy who got me the therapist. Some might say it was odd how it didn’t come out until Lou was about fourteen and started not needing me so much. I suppose that was it. One morning I woke with shaking hands and a big ball the size of China in my throat and then I was sobbing on Kathy’s shoulder.

  “You have to talk about it, with someone,” she’d said. “Living only for Lou—it’s not right. What’re you going to do once she moves away?”

  “Don’t you ever tell her. Promise me?”

  Kathy was into the talking and that, by then. She’d bec
ome a teacher, with friends and nights out. She was my best friend at six-years-old, and at forty. “But you have to, one day. I’ll help if you like.”

  I wasn’t ready then, though. Lou had exams and boyfriends. The last thing she’d needed was her world breaking up by a selfish old dad.

  Kathy, I’m outside. Can I come in?

  I sent the text. Kathy always opened the living room window a little, because the radiator was a double one that blasted out too much heat. She only did a half day Wednesday, so I knew she was in.

  The side door opened. “Hello, love. Kettle's on.” She lived with Paul. Had done for years. A nice chap with grown up kids of his own. It looked the same as usual and yet not. A new bright red cloth hung over the kitchen ledge, and things were about to be different forever. “You okay?”

  “Yes. Hello, Vertigo.” The old cat jumped on my lap and stared up. I’d felt all brave and ready in the car but once inside my stomach started bubbling.

  “Still on the soya milk?”

  “’Fraid so. Weak black will be fine if you don’t have any.”

  “No, I’ve got a carton in.” She always had a carton, just in case I called.

  “Lovely.” I felt the invite in my pocket, waiting. I didn’t know what I was scared of, not with Kathy. On the fridge hung a postcard of an avalanche. “I’ve got something for you.”

  She sat facing, eyes wide.

  “Here.”

  The cat purred as she took the invite carefully, running a finger along the flap at the top.

  “Go on...open it.” I grinned. It wasn’t so bad. She opened it quickly and pulled out one of Lou’s brightest cards from her ‘crazy period’.

  “Tom.” Tears poured down her face, and then mine. Suddenly we were both sixteen again, in trouble and no-one to turn to except each other. For a while, there was crying and laughing. “I’m so glad, Tom, I can’t tell you. Loz is a lovely man. You deserve it so much! Now I can finally stop worrying and feeling guilty,” she said, all fast and uneven.

  “Guilty?”

  “It seemed so wrong, you know. I have Paul! I hate thinking of you on your own. It haunts me, love.”

  We hugged for ages. “It’s amazing that Lou turned out so well,” I said, stroking her fiery hair. “All that we lived with.”

  “Do you want me to tell her?” Hah. Of course, she guessed that I hadn’t done it already.

  “No. I’m going to do it later tonight.”

  “It’ll be okay, you know. She already...”

  “Stop. I have to do it my way.”

  “Is that what the wedding is all about?” She laughed and clutched her stomach. “Oh dear god, I hope your wedding night with Loz is a lot better than ours was.”

  We laughed until the tears started again. Kathy and I hadn’t managed much sex though I held her at night and we left funny little notes for each other all over the house. The few times we did it we’d giggled more than groaned. “Pretend I’m David Bowie,” she would say. Love can be a complicated thing.

  “It’s an invite for—you know—Paul, Cherry, and Fiona. Your brother too, if he wants. There’s a separate card for your parents, but it’s up to you if you give it to them.” I grimaced.

  “Of course Simon will come.” She sipped her tea and shuddered. “What about the olds? What do you think?” She meant her parents and mine. I shook my head, then so did she.

  ****

  “Aren’t you inviting this lot?” Jenny indicated the rest of the office with a nod of the head. “You’ve got loads of friends here.”

  I managed not to show disbelief. But maybe my face did because she swivelled round.

  “Eh. Course you have.”

  “I don’t know, Jen. I mean, I’ve got to come back here afterward to work...What with them giving out redundancies and all.” Bloody stomach.

  It wasn’t illegal, no. It wasn’t back then either. I never go anywhere near the old church, but Kathy told me the other week about a sign she saw—praying and gaying, or some such bollocks, stinking, steaming bollocks.

  “Eh. Stop frowning. Your pen went through that paper. Tom!”

  Still, they are a nice lot here, mostly.

  “Sorry, Jen. What?”

  “Why don’t you invite them to the disco? Lots of weddings have two sets of guests.”

  “The disco!” I laughed because Lou said no-one had discos anymore; it was all clubs and ravings. “Lou says they don’t call them that now.”

  “Well, the band then. Invite them to the dancing jig.”

  “I never even thought of it. Why would they want to come?”

  “Eh. Durr. To join in your fecking wedding day.” She could be surprisingly eloquent. “To wish you well.”

  “Oh. Do you think so?”

  I’d told her years ago, around the same time as the helter-skelter breakdown. We were outside in ciggie corridor, a horrible space between two court buildings. I went out there with Jen more years than I could shake a stick at, which was funny because I never did smoke, except a few teenage exploratory ciggies with Kathy.

  From the corridor was a good view of city square where they held all the protests and celebrations. That week, there’d been council cuts, hospitals in crisis and save the trees. We always sympathised but never donated because I had no money to get to the end of the month, and Jenny’s Bernard was out of work.

  “Gay rights today,” she’d said carefully. There were people wearing bright colours—students from the University—with collection tins and magazines. She looked at me, and I finally looked back.

  “I’m a puff,” I said, just like that. She nodded and then had a last drag on her ciggie before grinding it into the floor.

  “Eh. Come on then.”

  “What?”

  She took my arm and marched us over to the protestors. I thought she was going to make me shake a tin with those kids or something. “Here you are, love.” She poked a tenner into the tin of a young woman.

  “Oh wow! Thanks,” the woman said. “First person to give me anything. Your money will be going towards setting up a counselling service at the college, for students in crisis.”

  Nothing else was said, but later on that afternoon—which must’ve been a Thursday—she’d brought the biscuits and it was Jammy Dodgers, so I knew it was all right.

  “Ye.”

  “Don’t think I have enough invites for everyone,” I lied.

  “Rubbish. You’ve got loads of them cards, so have I and so has Hikmat.”

  ****

  “I handed the keys to the flat at the Estate Agents.” Loz immediately stopped washing up. Soapy hands roamed across my face.

  “Oh, Tom. Was it okay? Oops.” He tried to brush the bubbles off, but of course they spread all over my neck, too. “I know that flat was special.”

  “Not as important as you.” I slipped my hands around his waist.

  “Darling.” Loved that he called me that, and all the other things blokes only ever said on the telly. “Oh dear. Now I’ve put bubbles in your hair too.” He deliberately smeared the soapy mess all over my head.

  When we first started seeing each other I’d think about him before nodding off to sleep, trying to calm my thudding heart with assurances—if he ended it next day, my drawing would be enough—if he got hit by a drunk driver, I’d been alone before. But my heart knew the truth. I couldn’t give him up, simple as that. His orange was the sun to my cold, lonely planet.

  “Now you’re going to pay for that.”

  He took my hand and led me into the bedroom. I must admit to thinking about the sex and the holding all day, and all my life.

  ****

  “Shh, Tom. It’s a nightmare.” Loz’s hands stroked my hair and whatever it was faded away. “Do you think it’s wedding stress?” Three nightmares in two weeks. “Your tummy is playing up too?”

  “Mm, a bit.”

  “You know, it’s not too late to cancel it all.” One arm slipped around my waist, the other across my shoulders. They m
et on the other side, and I was cocooned.

  “No.”

  “I’m just saying—I won’t mind—I will mind, but I get it. If you can’t tell her, we don’t do it.” He breathed an almost-laugh. “I mean, we can have the party anyway and call it a moving home celebration.”

  I’d had the same thought myself that afternoon.

  “Or a mid-life feast.”

  “Mm.”

  “Or we’ll say we’ve decided not to marry because it’s a cliché and we are far too dynamic to entertain such cheese. Hmm?”

  “I took Kathy’s invite round today.” This would distract him for a while. Maybe long enough for us both to fall asleep. There were only two people left on my list which meant the wedding would—without a shadowy fox of a doubt—be going ahead.

  “You did?” He sounded sleepy, nuzzling his head against mine. “Why don’t you ask her to tell Lou? I’m sure she won’t mind. It’s not going to be as bad as you think.”

  “No.”

  “I don’t want to say I know you’ll do it because that’s more pressure.” He squeezed me almost breathless. “I know you’ll do what’s best, darling.”

  What’s best...

  Chapter four

  Dawn was yellow and frightening. Long lines of thin pale poked down like dad’s fingers when he shouted. Warnings that could not be ignored.

  Misery to the root.

  Cold tea and icy tears.

  Gay conversion therapy.

  Only a few years ago, I read about it on the computers at the library, where there was no chance of Lou seeing. All around me, readers looked for books and chatted while I went sickly cold. There were so many stories, but of course when I was a teenager I’d felt like I was the only one.

  Therapy? Was it? First dad’s leather belt followed by frightening talks at the church.

  They’d said I had to be cured of the demon inside.

  I’d got the train at dawn and returned weeks later, after mind-bending hours of what they called counselling. There was even an exorcism. By the time I stepped off the train back in Bradford, I was certainly a changed lad, but time has proved that I was not converted, no.