By Quarry Lake (4 page)

“Have you ever
even tried it yourself?” Tommy demanded.

It felt like
someone had just stoked the fire on Rob’s cheeks. “No,” he croaked,
getting to his feet. His legs felt strangely wobbly, so he paced
around to get them back to normal.

“You always
top? Never even been tempted? Not even once?”

Rob couldn’t
speak. All he wanted to do was go dive back in the water to cool
off. How could he admit he’d never even kissed another bloke since
Tommy?

But maybe he
didn’t have to. A look of understanding dawned on Tommy’s face. “Oh
my God. I’m an idiot. Of course. Shit. That was your first time. I
wish I’d known.”

“I’m sorry I
was crap,” Rob blurted out.

“What are you
talking about?”

“I’ve got to go
now. Cows need milking. Fences to mend. Gotta check over the hay
mower too. See if we need to order in any parts.”

“Rob, please,
just listen—”

“I’ve really
got to go. Chores. You know how it is.”

“I’ll see you
soon, though, right? Meet you back here after my shift tonight? Or
are you keeping crazy farmer’s hours like your old man?”

Rob mumbled
something about needing to leave, and watched Tommy’s face settle
into a frown. He didn’t feel particularly good about himself as he
turned away, but he needed some space. Too many conflicting
thoughts circling around in his head. Times like these, he needed
to be on his own for a bit.

He dived into
the water and made for the shore where he’d left his clothes. Lex
was standing guard next to them. As he dressed, he turned to face
the cave entrance but Tommy was nowhere to be seen.

He waved
goodbye, feeling foolish, but not wanting to sneak away without
doing so. Even if there was no one to see.

***

Three hours
later Rob let himself into the kitchen by the back door. He stamped
his boots automatically before remembering there was no mud to get
off them at the moment. The milking had given him plenty of time to
think. Too long, really. He’d found himself almost wishing to
discover a case of mastitis just so he had something to distract
him from his thoughts.

But eventually
they minutes had ticked away until he was left with only one
conclusion.

He had to tell
the old man. Everything else would depend on how that went.

“Want chops
tonight?” his father called from halfway inside the fridge. “I
picked a few spuds and beans, but most of the spinach and lettuce
has bolted. Haven’t known a summer like this since the year you
were born. Janet didn’t half suffer those last few months of
carrying you, you know.”

Rob grunted in
reply as he scrubbed his hands at the sink. It was one of those
days. The maudlin ones where Dad actually talked about his mum. He
wasn’t sure if that would make his task easier or tougher, but it
had to be tonight. He felt like a balloon, bursting with the
pressure of the secrets inside. One wrong word—or even one kind
word—and he’d pop.

But he couldn’t
find the right words while they prepared the food side by side. Or
when they sat down to eat, the jug of sweet peas between them a
constant reminder of the woman who’d left them both behind. Dad
always picked flowers when he went to get veg. Rob had used to find
it depressing—flowers always reminded him of funerals, and his
mum’s funeral in particular—but as he gazed on the soft petals, he
wondered if he’d been looking at them all wrong. Maybe they were a
comfort after all. He watched his dad chewing and slicing into his
chop with calm deliberation. Brian Carver might have been a hard
taskmaster, but he never rushed anything. Maybe he wouldn’t rush to
judge either.

“Dad... I’ve
got something to tell you. It might come as a bit of a shock, but
I’ve thought it through very carefully.”

His father
grunted, but didn’t make any other encouragement. He must have been
able to hear the way Rob’s voice was shaking, surely? Rob attacked
his runner beans with his knife.

“I’ve been
feeling this way for a long time now. This isn’t just a phase, so
don’t go thinking that. I’m not going to grow out of it. Dad...
I’m...” He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t say those two little words to
the man who’d raised him single-handedly for the last thirteen
years. What if it destroyed him?

“Come on lad,
spit it out.”

Rob glanced up
from his beans. His father was staring back with weary resignation.
What was Rob thinking? This man had weathered far worse storms than
his son coming out. He’d survive. They’d both survive. And with any
luck, they’d still be on speaking terms afterwards.

“I’m gay.”

His father cut
another mouthful of pork and raised it to his mouth with the same
unhurried calm he brought to all his work and chores. Rob waited
while he chewed. He pulled the vase of sweet peas closer, breathing
in their heady fragrance. Yes. Comforting. Mum wouldn’t have minded
about Rob liking boys. He felt sure of that. From the little he
remembered of her, she’d never had a bad word to say about
anyone.

“Is this
anything to do with the Freestones’ lad being back in town? I saw
him the other day with all that metal in his face and thought he’d
gone a bit queer up in London.” The calm voice didn’t give anything
away, but Rob decided to risk it anyway.

“I love Tommy.
I always have.”

His father
grunted and took another mouthful of food. Rob couldn’t manage
another bite of his, so he shut his eyes, buried his nose in the
sweet peas and listened to the familiar sounds of his father
eating. There was comfort in that too.

“Could I have a
beer?” his father asked, drawing Rob from his reverie. “Get
yourself one too.”

Okay. Not so
bad. So long as his father wasn’t planning to hit him over the head
with a shovel on his way back up from the cellar. Rob fetched two
bottles of the elderflower ale they’d brewed last. Should be just
about ready by now. He got back to find two pint glasses waiting on
the table.

He poured,
careful not to disturb the yeasty sediment at the bottom of the
bottle, then waited for the old man to gather his thoughts.

“A toast.” His
father raised his glass, and Rob did the same. “To you and Tommy
Freestone. He’s not exactly what I was expecting from a
daughter-in-law, but he’s a good lad. Polite. Hard-working. Used to
be, anyhow.”

“He’s still the
same. In all the ways that matter.”

His father
sniffed, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “You could do
worse.”

“You’re not
upset about it? Me being gay?”

“Would it make
you like girls any better if I was?”

Rob shook his
head vehemently.

“Then I can’t
see the point. What will be, will be. All I’ll say is that Tommy
better treat you right or I’ll string him up from a high beam and
beat him with a broom handle.”

Rob smiled
despite the protective urge that image called up. “Thanks,
Dad.”

“And invite him
round for dinner tomorrow, will you? We can have a barbeque. You
think he still likes meat? He wouldn’t have gone all
vegetarian
too, would he?”

“I’m fairly
sure he still loves meat,” Rob said, smiling at the disgust in his
father’s voice. Might have known his dad would find being a
vegetarian far more objectionable than being gay. “But I’ll check.
Just in case.” Relearning Tommy was going to be fun.

***

The Rose and
Crown was its usual Friday night self, from what Tommy could
remember—bustling in the restaurant side with people from all over
the area, but fairly sedate in the bar. Just a few locals. Farmers
meeting their friends. The odd middle-aged couple. It wasn’t a
youngster’s hangout as a rule. Back when he was at school, anyone
from the village with wheels drove to one of the local towns with a
better nightlife, or better yet, cadged a lift from someone with
wheels so they could drink themselves into a stupor.

But just
because these weren’t his peers didn’t mean he didn’t know them
all. It was pretty much impossible to grow up in a small village
without having a nodding acquaintance with near enough
everyone.

“Hey, Tommy my
lad. A pint of Best, when you’ve got a moment.” That was Stuart
Ramsbottom, who farmed fifty acres to the west of the village.
Tommy had spent one long summer picking strawberries in his
polytunnels for less than minimum wage. The scent of the ripe fruit
had lingered on his fingers and hair for weeks afterwards.

Tommy set down
a dripping pint and Stuart gave it a frown. “They didn’t teach you
how to pour a proper pint down in the big city, then? I suppose it
was all them la-di-dah cocktails you lot seem to love.”

“My lot? What
the fuck’s that supposed to mean? I still drink lager, you
know.”

Stuart flushed
and mumbled something that might have been an apology, following it
up with a sheepish smile.

Tommy decided
to let it go. Stuart was an all right bloke. He was clearly
embarrassed by the whole gay thing, but he hadn’t been unpleasant
about it. Just a bit ignorant. In much the same way as Tommy was
ignorant of the finer points of pouring a pint of ale, it would
appear. “What’s wrong with it, anyway?” he said, peering at the
pint glass.

“It’s got about
two inches of head for a start.”

“No it
hasn’t.”

“Wait and
see.”

They watched
together as the swirling liquid settled out into layers of white
foam and amber beer, and Tommy had to concede. He was just topping
it up when something in the atmosphere of the room changed.

He looked up to
see Rob standing in the doorway, a determined set to his jaw.

Oh, that was
hot. Tommy could just imagine him striding over and throwing Tommy
over his shoulder before carrying him off to have his wicked way
with him. Not going to happen of course. Not with Rob being so
thoroughly closeted, but his imagination couldn’t help itself.

Tommy gave Rob
a wave before setting down Stuart’s pint and taking his money, and
when he next looked up Rob was standing at the bar.

“Hey, mate.
What can I get you?”

Rob blinked and
swallowed a few times. Looked like an unnecessary amount of
preparation for getting a drinks order out. Tommy leaned on his
elbows and cocked his head. “Something the matter?” he asked, soft
enough so no one could listen in.

“I told
him.”

“Ah. And how
did it go?”

“Pretty good,
actually.”

Rob sounded
surprised, but Tommy had always had old man Carver down as a decent
sort. Compared to Tommy’s own father that wasn’t difficult, but
he’d have liked him anyway just for the fact he so clearly loved
his son. “Nice one. I’m really happy for you.”

“Thanks.”

Rob didn’t say
much more other than to order a pint of Wild Hare, which Tommy did
his best to pour right this time. “So, why’d you do it? You know,
tell the old man?”

Rob took a long
gulp of beer before coming up for air. “It was like you said. I
don’t want to be ashamed of this. You. Us. I want people to know
we’re together.”

“We are?”
Tommy’s heart beat faster. “But I was being way too dramatic. You
don’t need to tell everyone right away. Take some time to get used
to it all first. It’s okay by me. I can wait.”

“Yeah, but I
can’t.”Rob took another long swig, then very deliberately put his
pint down and grasped Tommy’s hand instead. His grip was cool and a
little beery from the pint glass. And very, very insistent.

Tommy glanced
around the pub. It was only a matter of time before someone else
noticed. “What are you doing?”

“Holding hands
with my boyfriend. In public.” Rob’s voice was calm and low, but
the tightness of his grip betrayed his internal struggle.

Tommy wanted to
vault over the bar and leap up into Rob’s arms, but he settled for
a stroke of his thumb over Rob’s knuckles. “Better ease up or
you’ll break some of my fingers.”

“God,
sorry.”

“Don’t be.” The
grin on Tommy’s face felt every bit as soppy as the one on
Rob’s.

“Hey Rob, watch
out. I think gayness might be catching.”

They both
looked round into Stuart’s leering face. Tommy tried to pull out of
Rob’s grip. Let him save as much face as possible.

“It is,” Rob
said, but didn’t relinquish Tommy’s fingers. “Tommy caught it off
me, actually.”

“You what?”
Stuart looked like someone had just whacked him in the face with a
2x4.

“I’m gay.”

“Huh? You
mean... you? But you couldn’t be. I mean, just look at you.”

Tommy bit back
a laugh at the glorious confusion on Stuart’s face. While he hadn’t
had a problem accepting Tommy might be that way inclined, the idea
of a strapping, six-foot-four tractor-driving lad like Rob being
gay was obviously messing with his whole world view.

“I’m into men.
Always have been. Just never saw what business it was of anyone
else’s.”

“Oh. Right.
Well. I’ll, um. I’ll see you at the next market, I suppose.”

Rob tipped his
head in agreement, and Stuart wandered back to his table, looking
dazed and disorientated. It was a wonder he didn’t knock his head
on the low beam.

Tommy turned
back to find Rob watching him. “That was fun.”

Rob let out a
shaky exhale. “Yeah. Went better than I expected.”

“So, does this
mean we’re officially together, then?”

Rob nodded.
“You’ll get the old man after you with a shotgun if you don’t make
an honest man out of me. He wants you to come over for a barbeque
tomorrow night. You still eat meat, right?”

“Oh yes. I love
it. Especially a nice, fat, juicy, farm-fresh sausage.” Tommy
fluttered his eyelids a little, just to watch Rob blush. It was too
cute. “In fact, I’m kind of peckish for one of those right now. I
get off at half-eleven.”