After what came to pass had the distinct feeling that Alan Watson had reached the extent of his degradation at the hands of Whispering Tim and his cohorts, the young schoolmaster now had to face the parents of a boy in his charge with whom intimacy had occurred. It was not a dinner to which Alan was looking forward.
Dinner with the Mayhews
It was with a heavy heart that I approached the Mayhew’s front door. It was snatched open before I reached out for the bellpush.
“Alan! What are you doing here? I saw you coming up the drive from my bedroom window,” Richard greeted him with a surprised smile.
“Your mother invited me this morning when she dropped you off at school,” I explained.
“That’s cool. Come in, come in. She never said anything.”
No, I thought; I hadn’t expected her to. I was sure she would leave it to Donald to make the first move.
“Isn’t your father home yet?” I asked.
“No, not yet. He had to meet a client in town today, Mum said, so he went on the train.”
“Ah, I see.”
He led me into the drawing room.
“Well, this is a nice surprise. Can I get you anything? Gin? Beer? Sherry?” he asked, gesturing towards the drink’s cupboard by the fireplace, then he turned his head and called through to the kitchen, “Mum, Mr Watson’s here. Can I give him a drink?”
And answer came there none.
“She’ll be out in a moment to greet you,” he said. “What’ll you have?”
I settled for a dry sherry, and Richard set about getting a sherry glass out and selecting the right bottle.
“Only three days to go and we’ll be in The Lakes, won’t we?” he said happily. “I can’t wait . . . .” and he turned towards the kitchen to check his mother was still not here, and dropping his voice a little, added, “. . . . to get you in my bed!”
I shuddered.
At that moment, Angela walked in.
“Hello, Alan. Are you cold?” she asked.
“No, not at all, thank you. I shivered just now, I don’t know why,” I lied. “Perhaps someone just walked over my grave, as they say.”
“Who’s ‘they’?” Richard wanted to know as he handed me the glass.
“It’s just an old expression, that’s all. Cheers!” I said as I toasted them both with the sherry.
“Donald will be late, I’m afraid. He had to go up to town today to meet a client.”
Her tone was cooler than usual, and she avoided eye-contact, I noticed. She turned to Richard with a warm smile.
“Pour me a sherry too, darling, will you?”
“Sure,” he said. “Everything all right?” he asked as he glanced at her.
“Yes. Fine.”
But she didn’t sound fine. There was a definite atmosphere.
“I’ll take it into the kitchen. I’ve got things to do. Do excuse me, Alan,” and she threw me a cursory glance.
“Shall we both come in and chat with you in there?” Richard asked.
“No, there’s far too much clutter, I’m afraid. You’re much better off in here. Put the television on, if you want.” And she left us to it.
Richard poured himself a cola, looked at me and nodded in the direction of the kitchen.
“Do you detect a certain atmosphere?” he asked me conspiratorially.
“No?” I lied.
He shrugged.
“It must be me, then.” And he toasted me with his cola.
“By the way, what was Robey after this morning when he wanted that private word before our lesson with you?” he wanted to know, and moved closer with a glance through to the kitchen.
“It was private,” I parried.
“Was he, in fact, exposing your privates?” he murmured.
“He told you?” I reacted.
“Geoff told me. He said you were without your trousers throughout the entire session, and bollock naked too!”
I studied my sherry intently.
“Is it true, Alan?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “Not actually without them. They were round my ankles.”
“Good grief!” he gasped. Then, “Were you hard?”
“Oh, Richard, really!” I started.
“I was, when Geoff told me,” he added, and grabbed my wrist. “I am now, just thinking about it,” and he pulled my hand down until it brushed the outline of it through his trousers.
“No, Richard. Stop it!”
I jerked my hand from his grasp.
“Go on, give me a hand job while we’re waiting for Dad to get back,” he growled throatily.
“Look, this is serious. I have been summoned here tonight for a talk about you and me.”
He stared at me
“What?” he said after a moment.
“Your father has worked out what’s going on.”
“What’s going on?” he echoed.
“Between us.” I added.
“You mean he’s sussed us?”
“Yes.”
“Oh god!”
His body sagged dramatically, and he suddenly sat down, spilling some of his drink.
“How d’you know this?”
“Your mother told me this morning, and that’s why I’m here tonight.”
“To face a firing squad!”
“Firing could well be my outcome,” I conjectured glumly.
“No, it won’t come to that. Dad likes you, Alan.”
“That was before he realised his son had formed an attachment to me.”
“I’ll deny it. I’ll tell him he’s got it all wrong. It’s just rumours put about by people who hate me.”
“No, don’t lie.”
He looked at me.
“You want me to tell both my parents we are in a gay relationship?”
“They know that already, Richard,” I said softly.
He stared at me, and his eyes began to fill up.
“Oh, Alan!” his voice cracked. “This is going to be so very embarrassing.”
“For us both,” I added.
“But at least we get to keep our clothes on,” he snorted.
We both heard a key in the front door signifying the arrival home of Donald Mayhew. Richard covered his face with both hands as though offering up a silent prayer. I swallowed hard, sat back in my chair and crossed my legs.
We could hear him, presumably divesting himself of his coat and hanging it up in a closet in the hallway, then making his way to the kitchen where we heard a low and solemn exchange of words between husband and wife.
My mouth was suddenly very dry, and I knocked back the remains of my sherry. It didn’t help.
Donald appeared in the doorway.
“Good evening,” he said in an unfamiliar frigid tone of voice.
I found myself responding in a similar tone.
He made his way across the room to the drinks cupboard and set about making himself a gin and tonic. Glancing across at me, he cleared his throat.
“I see your glass is empty, Alan. Would you like another sherry, or would you prefer to join me in a gin and tonic?”
I decided to stick to sherry. I’d just put it to my lips when Angela appeared and said dinner was ready. Silently we followed her into the dining room. The atmosphere was ominous, heavy with unspoken words.
Donald carved with an air of solemn concentration on the job in hand. Angela passed round the tureens of potatoes and vegetables. The air of expectancy was truly ominous.
I think probably all four of us had lost our appetites by this time. The clinking of cutlery against the plates was the only sound, other than muted polite acknowledgements as we were served, each scrape a reminder of the conversation that loomed over us. Richard glanced nervously at me as I sat across from him, my usual calm demeanour when in this house now very definitely tinged with unease.
Donald and Angela exchanged meaningful glances, their expressions unreadable, though the tension in their furrowed brows betrayed their thoughts. As if prompted by his wife’s raised eyebrows, Donald finally cleared his throat.
“Richard,” he began, his voice steady but firm, “your mother and I have been talking and we’re . . . . . somewhat concerned.”
Richard froze, his fork hovering in mid-air. “Concerned? – About what?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.
Angela leaned forward; her hands clasped tightly together.
“About you and Mr Watson,” she said softly, casting a very quick sideways glance at me. “We’ve noticed . . . . well, we’ve noticed how very close you’ve become. And while we understand that you’re at an age where those sorts of emotions can be very confusing, we feel it’s important we face up to the situation and talk calmly about this.”
I thought it was time I bit the bullet. I set down my glass of wine, trying desperately to keep my face and voice as neutral as possible.
“Angela, Donald,” I began in measured tones, “I hope you both know I care deeply about Richard’s well-being. But I can also understand your concerns, and I want to address them openly.”
Donald’s jaw tightened.
“You’re his teacher, Alan, and that is expected of you, and much valued by us as his parents. However, there are certain clear-cut boundaries that should be – and indeed, must be - respected.”
“I agree,” I said, marking the surprised look on both Richard’s and his parents’ faces. “And I want to make it clear I have no intention of doing anything whatsoever to hurt or in any way jeopardise Richard, now or in the future. I care for him, I freely admit, but I also recognise the importance of my maintaining professionalism.”
Donald cleared his throat with a slightly sceptical two-part cough and stared at his glass. Seeing he had not finished his gin, he picked the glass up and swallowed the remains of it down.
“We haven’t done anything wrong, Dad,” Richard protested. I shot him a look of caution which he chose to ignore and added: “We’re not hurting anyone.”
Angela reached out, her hand trembling slightly as she placed it over Richard’s.
“Darling, we’re not saying you’ve done anything wrong. But you’re young, and this . . . this relationship, whatever it is, could have serious consequences – for both of you.”
I swallowed hard and blinked back the extra moisture that had accumulated in my eyes.
“Your parents are right, Richard. As much as I care for you, my first responsibility to you is as your teacher. My second is to myself. Perhaps it’s for the best if we take a step back – at least for now.”
Tears rolled down Richard’s cheeks as he faced me with a look of hurt alarm.
“You mean . . . . you don’t want to see me anymore?”
“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” I said, gently chiding him for misunderstanding. “We just need to be careful. For your sake, for my sake, for the sake of everyone involved.”
Donald leant forward and took his son’s other hand, his expression softening slightly.
“We’re not trying to punish you, Richard, or indeed apportion any blame. We just want to make sure you’re thinking clearly about all of this. You have your whole life ahead of you.”
“And we love you, Richard. We just want what’s best for you.” Angela added.
“I know you love me, both of you, and I love you back. But I love Alan too!”
All three of us adults suddenly studied the intricate pattern of the damask tablecloth.
Donald suddenly cleared his throat and leant back in his chair, hands clasped, wrists resting on the edge of the table, his meal unfinished.
“I’ve never told anyone this,” he started. “When I was at school, in the fifth year, I think, we had a French exchange teacher brought over to give us confidence in conversational French for our oral exam. She was very pretty, probably only about four years older than us boys. I was very smitten. She was very kind and laughed with us a lot. Trés jolie! Foolishly, I wrote her a love letter. I went completely overboard. The school brought my parents in, and I was up before the Head. It was intensely embarrassing. It still is, all these years later. Of course, I was made to see it was nothing more than an infatuation.”
“But Dad, this is different – “ Richard started.
I stepped in.
“It may be different, Richard. Only time will tell. What your mother and father are suggesting is a sort of cooling off period. Giving yourself time to step back and think about things. To give yourself the chance to be really sure that’s what you want.”
He looked hard at me, as if trying to read a different interpretation of what I was saying to him.
“Let’s decide after our week in The Lakes,” he said at last.
“Ah . . .” Donald began, “I’m afraid the letting agent suddenly found a family wanted it for half-term. Sorry, Alan, to break the news so late, but I’m afraid the Lakes trip is off.”
I looked at him, and he met my eyes with a steely glare.
“So, what about me, when you’re in the Canaries?” Richard wanted to know.
“Well, as luck would have it, when I heard the cottage had been let, I got on to the travel agency straightaway and discovered there’d been a cancellation, making them able to get you a late booking on our flight, so you can come with us. Wasn’t that lucky?”
The room fell silent again, the weight of the conversation settling over us all like a heavy blanket. Richard stared down at his plate, his appetite gone. He felt torn – torn between his feelings for me and his loyalty to his parents, between what he wanted and what he knew was right. As I did too.
Angela reached out again, this time brushing a strand of hair from Richard’s forehead.
“I know you were looking forward to going to the cottage, and it’s bound to be a disappointment but perhaps Alan will be able to join us all up there in the summer,” and she looked at me with a thin smile.
As the evening wore on, the tension in the room began to ease, though the unspoken emotions lingered beneath the surface. I think we all knew it would take time to process everything, to come to terms with the changes that lay ahead. And perhaps, in time, we would all come to see this as a turning point – a moment of growth and understanding, and of love in its many complicated forms.
Was I just a schoolboy’s crush? Was that all it was? As Donald had said of his, it was very intense at the time. I felt a deep hurt in the pit of my stomach as I looked across the table at Richard. Was he feeling the same? Would he grow up to be gay, or was it just a youthful experiment? Was I really straight, as I’d always imagined? – Had Richard just been a fleeting infatuation for me?
* * *
At the end of registration, I closed my register and announced: “Robey, my study now, please,” and swept out of the classroom managing to catch a surprised look of “what now?” on his face as he looked up.
I left my door open and as he entered, I shut and locked it behind him and held out the palm of my hand.
“Your Allen key, please?” I demanded.
“What? Why?” He looked puzzled – even a little alarmed at my tone.
“I wish to remove and return your equipment and bring to an end your little experiment of control. The Head and Mayhew’s parents are now fully aware of the situation, and it has all been dismissed as nothing more than a schoolboy crush, so you have no further hold over me.”
“Wait! No, but what about all the material I’ve got?” the startled boy countered.
“If any of that is used by you, I shall bring it to the attention of the police and accuse you of blackmail, naming you and the other boys concerned in your exploits against me.”
Wide-eyed, he studied my stern expression.
“I’m waiting,” I said, my hand still held out.
Slowly and very reluctantly, he put his hand in his trouser pocket and withdrew the key.
“Thank you,” I took it from him. “I shall remove the ring and return it to you later.”
Unlocking the door, I opened it for him and gestured that he should leave. He did so without a word.
Locking it again, I dropped my trousers and underpants and released my genitalia from its imprisonment. What a relief! Finding a large brown manila envelope, I dropped it and its key into it, sealed it and took it with me as, fully dressed again, I left my study and headed towards the assembly hall.
Robey was sitting at the back of the hall next to Richard in earnest conversation. I tapped him on the shoulder and, guiltily startled, he looked up at me.
“Your property,” I said, handing the envelope to him. “And perhaps you may care to inform Mayhew why it is no longer required.”
Richard smiled up at me, for the first time since I had arrived at their house the previous night. Our eyes met, and there was a definite pang of regret in my chest as I returned his smile.
I decided to go home and stay with Mother over half term now I had no other plans. She seemed quite pleased when I rang to check it was all right with her.
“Of course it’s all right, dear,” she had said. “It’ll be lovely to see you. Just don’t bother bringing that fancy dress outfit of yours with you, will you? Frilly satin panties do nothing at all for you!”
I winced.
The End
